


The Mistletoe Promise

by nachoziam



Category: One Direction
Genre: F/M, M/M, past danielle/liam relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-08-16 04:43:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 24,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachoziam/pseuds/nachoziam
Summary: Liam Payne dreads the arrival of another holiday season. Three years earlier, his wife cheated on him with his best friend, resulting in a bitter divorce that left him alone, broken, and distrustful. Then, one November day, a stranger approaches him in the mall food court. Though he recognizes the man from his office building, Liam has never formally met him. Tired of spending the holidays alone, the man offers him a proposition. For the next eight weeks─until the evening of December 24th─he suggests that they pretend to be a couple. He draws up a contract with four rules:1. No deep, probing personal  questions2. No drama3. No telling anyone the truth about  the relationship4. The contract is void on Christmas  DayThe lonely Liam surprises himself by agreeing to the idea. As the charade progresses, the safety of his fake relationship begins to mend his badly broken heart. But just as Liam begins to find joy again, his long-held secret threatens the emerging romance. And he might not be the only one with a secret.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (ALL COPYRIGHT RIGHTFULLY GIVEN TO THIS BOOKS ORIGINAL OWNER! I am in no way, shape or form, claiming this story as my own. I am only writing it as I wish to portray it.)

If you could erase just one day from your life, would you know the day? For some, a specific date comes to mind, one that lives in personal infamy. It may be the day you lost someone you love. Or it might be the time you did something you regret, a mistake you wish you could fix. It may be a combination of both.

I am one of those people who would know the day. There is one day that has brought me unspeakable pain, and the effects of that day continue to cover and erode my world like rust. I suspect that someday the rust will eat through the joists and posts of my life and I will topple, literally as well as figuratively.

I have punished myself for my mistake more times than I can remember. Each day I wake up in the court of conscience to be judged guilty and unworthy. In this sorry realm I am the judge, prosecutor, and jury, and, without defense, I accept the verdict and the sentence, a lifetime of regret and guilt to be administrated by myself.

I'm not the only one who has punished me for what I've done. Not by a long shot. The world has weighed in on my failure as well. Some people I know, more I don't. And there are those who have learned to use my mistake against me─to punish or control me. My ex-wife was an expert on wielding my mistake against me, and for too long I offered up no defense.

Then one day a man came along who was willing to plead my case. Not so ironically, he was an attorney. And, for the first since that black day, I felt joy without the need to squash it. I met him around the holidays just a little more than a year ago. And that too is a day I'll never forget.

  


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm not ready for another Christmas. I haven't been since 2007._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

**November 1, 2012**

I hated the change, the commercial changing of the seasons was more obvious than natures. It was November first, the day after Halloween when orange and black gives away to red and green. I didn't always hate the change; I once looked forward to it. But that seemed like a lifetime ago.

I watched as the maintenance staff of the office building where I worked transformed the food court. A large, synthetic Christmas tree was dragged out to the middle of the room, strung with white lights, and draped in blue and silver tinsel. Giant corrugated-styrene snowflakes were brought out of storage and hung from the ceiling, just as they had been every year for as long as I'd worked in downtown Wolverhampton.

I was watching the transformation when I noticed him staring at me. _Him._ The stranger who would change everything. I didn't know his name, but I had seen him before. I'd probably seen him a hundred times before, as we ate pretty much every day in the same food court: I eat near the Café Rio with my sweet chicken salad and him, fifty yards away, over by the Japanese food emporium eating something with chopsticks. _Why was he looking at me?_

He was handsome. Not in your Photoshopped Abercrombie & Fitch catalog way _—_ women weren't necessarily stopping midsentence when he walked into a room─but he certainly did catch their attention. He was about five feet and ten inches tall, trim, narrow-hipped, athletically built. He has always dressed impeccably─in an expensive, custom-tailored suit, with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie.

I guessed he was a lawyer and, from his accouterments, one made good money. I, on the other hand, worked as a hotel and venue coordinator at a midlevel travel wholesaler booking educational trips for high school students. The company I worked for was called the International Consortium of Education, but we all just it by its acronym, ICE, which was appropriate as I felt pretty frozen in my jobs. I guess that was true of most of my life. 

*******

The lawyer and I had eye contact before. It was two or three weeks back when I had stepped on an elevator that he was already on. The button for the seventh floor was lit, which was further evidence that he was a lawyer since the top floors of the tower were occupied by law firms.

He had smiled at me, and I'd given him an obligatory return smile. I remember his gaze had lingered on me a little longer than I'd expected, long enough to make me feel self-conscious. He'd looked at me as if he knew me, or wanted to say something, then he'd turned away. I thought he had stolen a glance at my bare ring finger, though later I decided that it had just been my imagination. I had gotten off the elevator on the third floor with another woman, who sighed, "He was gorgeous." I had nodded in agreement.

After that, the lawyer and I had into each other dozens of times, each time offering the same obligatory smiles. But today he was staring at me. Then he got up and started across the room toward me, a violation of our unspoken relational agreement.

At first, I thought he was walking toward me, then I thought he wasn't, which made me feel stupid, like when someone waves at someone behind you. But then there he was, this gorgeous man, standing five feet in front of me, staring at me with my mouth full of salad.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi," I returned, swallowing insufficiently chewed lettuce.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

I hesitated. "No, it's okay."

As he sat down he reached across the table. "My name is Zayn. Zayn Malik. You can call me Zayn, or just Zee."

"Hi, Zayn," I said, subtly refusing his offer of titular intimacy. "I'm Liam."

"Liam," he echoed. "That's a cool name."

"Thank you."

"Want to see something funny?"

Before I could answer, he unfolded a piece of paper from his coat pocket, then set it on the table in front of me. "A colleague of mine just showed these to me." 

_I know a guy who's addicted to breaking fluid. He says he can stop anytime._

_I didn't like my beard at first. Then it grew on me._

He pointed to the last one. "This is my favorite." 

_I stayed up all night to see where the sun went. Then it dawned on me._

"Is that that what you do at work?"

"Pretty much. That and computer solitaire," he said, folding the paper back into his pocket. "How about you?"

"Candy Crush."

"I mean, where do you work?"

"On the third floor of the tower. It's a travel company."

"What's it called?"

"I.C.E."

"Ice?"

"It stands for International Consortium of Education."

"What kind of travel do you do?"

"We arrange educational tours for high school students to historic sites, like Colonial Williamsburg or Philadelphia or New York. Teachers sign up their classes."

"I wouldn't think there was a lot of travel on the teacher's salary."

"That's the point," I said. "If they get enough of their student signed up, they come along free as chaperons."

"Ah, it's a racket."

"Basically. Let me guess, you're a lawyer."

"How could you tell?"

"You look like one. What's your firm?"

"Malik, Nelson, and McKay."

"That's a mouthful," I said. "Speaking of which, do you mind if I finish eating before my salad gets cold?"

He cocked his head. "Isn't salad supposed to be cold?"

"Not the meat. It's sweet chicken."

"No, please eat." He leaned back a little while I ate, surveying the room. "Looks like the holiday assault force has landed. I wish they would take a break this year. The holidays depress me."

"Why is that?"

"Because it's lonely just watching others celebrate."

It was exactly how I felt. "I know what you mean."

"I thought you might."

"Why do you say that?"

"I just noticed that you usually eat alone."

I immediately went on the defensive. "It's only because my workmates and I take different lunchtimes to watch the phones."

He frowned. "I didn't mean to offend you. I'm just saying that I've noticed we've both spent a lot of time down here alone."

"I didn't notice," I lied. He looked into my eyes. "So you're probably wondering what I want." I raised an eyebrow slightly. "It's crossed my mind."

"It's taken me a  few days to get up the courage to come over here and talk to you, which is saying something since I'm not afraid of much." He hesitated for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. "The first time I saw you I thought, _Why is such a gorgeous man sitting there alone?_ Then I saw you the next day, and the next day.."

"Your point?" I said. "My point is, I'm tired of being alone during the holidays. I'm tired of walking through holiday crowds of humanity feeling like a social leper." He looked into my eyes. "Are you?"

"Am I what?" I asked. "Tired of being alone during the holidays?" I shook my head. "No, I'm good." He looked surprised. "Really?" I looked at him, "really."

He looked surprised and a little deflated. "Oh," he said, looking down as if thinking. Then he looked back up at me and forced a smile. "Good, then. That's good for you. I'm glad you're happy." He stood. "Well, Liam, it was a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm sorry to bother you. Enjoy your salad and have a nice holiday." He turned to leave.

"Wait a second," I said. "Where are you going?" He turned slightly, "back to work."

"Why did you come over here?"

"It's not important."

"It was important enough for you to cross the food court," I stated. "It was important. Now it's moot." My eyebrows furrowed, "moot?" I said. "Sit down. Tell me what's moot."

He looked at me for a moment, then sat back down. "I just thought that maybe you felt the same way about the holidays as I do, but since you're _good,_ you clearly don't. So what I was going to say is now moot." I looked at him for a moment, then said, "I might have exaggerated my contentment. So what were you going to say that is now moot?"

"I had a proposition to make."

"Right here in the food court?"

"We could go to my office if you'd prefer."

"No, here in the public is good."

"I'll cut to the chase. Socially, this is a busy time of year for me. And, like I said, I'm tired of being alone during the holidays, going to all company and client dinners and parties alone, enduring everyone's sympathy and answering everyone's questions about why a successful, nice-looking attorney is still single. And, for the sake of argument, we'll say that you're also tired of doing the holidays solo."

"Go on," I said intrigued.

"As one who would rather light a candle than curse the darkness, I say that we do something about it. What I'm proposing is a mutually beneficial holiday arrangement. For the next eight weeks, we are, for all intents and purposes, a couple."

I looked at him blankly. "Are you kidding me?"

"Think about it," he said. "It's the perfect solution. We don't know each other, so there's no deep stuff, no pain, no bickering. The only commitment is to be good to each other and to be good company."

"And being good company means ending up bac at your place?"

"No, I'm proposing a purely platonic relationship. Maybe we publicly hold hands now and then to sell the façade, but that's the extent of our physicality." I shook my head skeptically. "Men can't have platonic relationships."

"In real life, you're probably right. But this isn't real life. It's fiction. And it's just until Christmas." I blinked slowly. "How do I know you're not a serial killer?" He laughed. "You don't. You could ask my ex, but no one's found the body."

"What?" He laughed. "Just kidding. I've never been married."

"You're serious about this?" He nodded. "Completely."

"I think you're crazy."

"Maybe. Or maybe I'm a genius and everyone will be doing this in the future." I slowly shook my head, not sure of what to think of the proposal or the proposer. "Look, I know it's unconventional, but oftentimes the best solutions are. Will you at least consider it?" I looked at him for a moment, then said, "All right. I'll think about it. No guarantees. Probably not." He nodded. "Fair enough," he said, standing. "I'm leaving town tonight, but I'll be back Monday."

"That will give me some time to think about it," I said. "I eagerly await for your response," Zayn said. "Don't be too eager," I said. "It's been a pleasure, Liam." He smiled as he turned and walked away.

*******

The encounter left me a little dazed. I didn't tell anyone about it. Actually, I didn't have anyone to tell. The person at work I spent the most time with was my colleague Harry, and I definitely wouldn't be telling him. You don't know him, but you do. Every company, every school in the world has a Harry─the kind of guy who attracts female and male attention like a porch light attracts moths. He was naturally attractive, skinny without starving or Zumba, born with a body that designers design for. He even looked good without styling his hair, which I knew for a fact since he usually spent the first hour of work doing it.

Even worse than being attractive was that he knew it. A few months after I started at ICE, before I really even knew him, he offered to give me good products, which sounded like him saying that I could be good looking if I tried. I think what hurt the most about his offer was that, whether he meant to convey that message or not, it was true. I didn't take care of myself. After Dani, my ex-wife, divorced me, I just sort of let things slide. Not completely, but enough to change. I put on a little weight and stopped spending time at the mirror or buying clothes. I guess I was treating myself the way I felt─undesirable.

At the opposite extreme, Harry was in his prime with a perpetually full roster of people, with someone always up to bat and someone always on deck, ready to fill in when he was tired of the current player. He was the one our company's airline and hotel reps, mostly balding middle-aged women and men, would plan their office visits around. I worked a trade show with him once, and the whole time men circled our booth like vultures over carrion. He ate it up. Why wouldn't he?

What I had said to the lawyer about eating alone at lunch was true, mostly. One of us was supposed to watch the phones, but that's what voice mail is for, right? The real reason I hated to eat lunch with Harry was because all I ended up doing was politely listening to his myriad stories of affairs and conquests while I sat there feeling frumpy and old. It's easy to hate the game when you're losing. 

*******

That weekend, all I could think about was the proposition. _Who was this guy and what did he want? What was his motive?_ I suppose, on a deeper level, the bigger question (considering how lonely I was) was _Why was I even questioning his motive?_ Why couldn't he be exactly what he claimed to be? Was that really so hard to accept?

My father used to say, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it. But if it's already broken, it doesn't matter what you do." My life was definitely broken. So why not? Really, what did I have to lose? I even asked myself, _What would Harry do?_ I knew what he'd do. He says, "You only live once, mate," and he'd buckle up for the ride. I suppose that my mind was probably somewhere in Harryland where I decided to say yes.

*******

The next Monday, Zayn has arrived in the food court about a half hour after I'd started eating. "Hi, Liam," he said. "How's your salad?" I didn't bother to look up as I picked through the various vegetables. "Good." He stood still before me. "How was your weekend?" I shrugged my shoulders slightly. "The usual," I said, even though it was definitely anything but. He sat down across from me. "Did you come to a decision?" His voice gets slightly quieter. "Right to the point," I said, setting down my plastic fork. "So, hypothetically, let's say that I said yes. What would this arrangement look like?" He smiled, watching me. "First, we write up a contract." I raised my eyebrow slightly. "Why, you don't trust me?" He leans back slightly. "Contracts are not always so much a matter of trust as they are a matter of understanding. This way we'll be more likely to meet each other's expectations."

 _I should have had one of those before my marriage,_ I thought. He leaned in closer this time. "Let me tell you what I had in mind. I'll pay for all meals, transportation, and admissions. We'll have lunch together when possible and, in addition to the social functions, I'll take you to dinner or some holiday-themed event at least once a week, and I'll send you something, a gift, each weekday up until the end of the contract. Then, at midnight on Christmas Eve, the agreement terminates and we go back to our lonely, pathetic lives." I gaped at him slightly.

"If I agree, how do we start?" I looked down at his finger slowly tapping against the top of the gray table. "We begin by going through each other's calendars and determining what events we can attend. It's two-sided, of course. If you'd like, I'll attend your events as well." I thought for a moment more, then, with his eyes locked onto mine, said, "All right."

"All right, let's do it?" He asked. I nodded. "Yes. Let's do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Why not? Lunch every day?"

"When possible. At least every work day. We're two days in on that now. It hasn't been too painful, has it?"

"It's definitely been interesting. I don't know about you sending me things." His eyes searched my face for what looked like an answer. "Why?" He asked as I shrugged. "You'll get used to it." I picked my fork up, stabbing it into a piece of lettuce. "Do I have to send you things too?" He shook his head quickly. "No. I expect nothing but the pleasure of your company." I took a deep breath. "Okay. Get me a contract."

"Great," he said, standing. "I'll see you tomorrow." I looked up at him, "You're not having lunch?" He looks down at his wrist watch before looking back at me, "No. I have a deposition in less than an hour that I still need to prepare for. I just came down to see you." Oddly enough, something about the way he said that pleased me. "All right, I guess I'll see you tomorrow." He nodded. "Thank you, Liam. I don't think you'll regret it."

A minute later, a food court worker said to me, "You have a cute husband." If I were still eating, I probably would have choked. "He's not my husband," I said. "He's.." I paused. "He's just my boyfriend." She smiled, "Lucky you."

 


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm not sure what I've gotten myself into with this contract, but I'm still looking for the fine print._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

 

The next day Zayn walked into the food court carrying a leather Coach briefcase. I was sitting at my usual table, waiting for him. He smiled when he saw me. "Shall we eat at Café Rio?" He asked. "Sure," I said.

We walked together up to the restaurant's counter. "I've never eaten here before," he said. "What's good?" He turns to me slightly. "The sweet chicken salad is pretty much my mainstay," I said. "Two sweet chicken salads," Zayn said to the woman who was rolling out tortillas. "Pinto beans or black beans?" She asked. Zayn deferred to me. "I didn't realize there would be a quiz. I'll let you take over." I laughed quietly. "Pinto beans," I said. "With the house dressing. Cheese, no pico." He nodded beside me.

"I'll have the same." He said. "Drink?" I glanced at him quickly before answering, "The sugar-free lemonade." He added, "One sugar-free lemonade and a Coke."

He paid for our meals, then, while I got our drinks, he carried our tray over to a table. "This is pretty good," he said. "I can see why you have it every day." I looked up at him. "It may be the most delicious salad ever made," I replied.

After we had eaten for a few minutes, he reaches into his briefcase and brings out some documents. "Here you go," he says, holding out the papers.

"The contract." I try not to laugh as I respond, "It looks so official." He smiles with amusement written all over his face. "It's what I do," he says.

I looked it over.

_**MISTLETOE CONTRACT** _

"Why mistletoe?" I ask. "You know how, at Christmastime, people show affection under a mistletoe to people they're not necessarily affectionate with?"

I glance at him quickly, "That's clever. Can we change the word contract? It sounds too formal."

"What would you prefer?" He asks. I think for a moment before responding. "How about promise?"

"Done," he says, striking a line through the word contract and penning in the rest.

"The Mistletoe Promise."

I looked over the agreement.

_**MISTLETOE ~~CONTRACT~~ PROMISE** _

**This service agreement is made effective as of November 6th by and between**

**Liam Payne (Lessor) and Zayn Malik (Lessee).**

 "How did you know my last name?" Was that the first question I asked. "I'm a lawyer," he responded, which didn't really answer my question.

**1\. DESCRIPTION OF SERVICES. Lessor will exert due effort to provide to Lessee the following services **

**(collectively, the "Services"):**

**a. Lunch together each weekday as individual schedules permit.**

**b. At least one evening activity per week through the duration of the contract.**

**c. Best effort to demonstrate a caring relationship.**

 

I couldn't help but think how every relationship would benefit from such an agreement.

**2\. PAYMENT. In consideration of Lessor's services, Lessee agrees to pay for all dinners, **

**joint activities, admission fees, travel expenses, etc., for the duration**

**of Contract.**

**If Lessee fails to pay for the Services when due, Lessor has the option**

**to treat such failure to pay as a material breach of this Contract,**

**and may cancel this Contract but not seek legal redress.**

**3\. TERM. This agreement will terminate automatically on December 24, 2016, at 11:59 P.M.**

**4\. LANGUAGE. Lessor and Lessee shall, for the duration of this agreement, **

**refer to each other as boyfriend or by any term of endearment including,**

**but not limited to, _sweetie, dear, babe, beautiful, cupcake,_ and any term found acceptable by both parties. **

I looked at him incredulously. "Really? Cupcake?" He looked back at me, "I wasn't planning on using cupcake."

"Then why did you put it in the contract?"

"In case you were. It's just an example," he said. "Granted a poor one, but I don't know your preferences."

"I would rather not be called after any food or animal. Actually, avoid any noun."

"Consider all nouns, especially cupcake, stricken from my vocabulary. Does that include honey?"

I thought about it. "I guess honey is okay. It's gone mainstream."

"Honey, okay." He said to himself.

I went back to the contract.

**5\. PLATONIC NATURE OF ARRANGEMENT.**

**This agreement does not constitute, imply, or encourage, directly or indirectly,**

**a physical relationship, other than what would be considered expected and appropriate  
public physical contact.**

"What does that mean? Expected physical contact."

"Nothing exciting," he said. "Hand-holding in public, that sort of thing." When I didn't respond he added, "Things real couple does. For instance, we might hold hands at a company party, at least when walking into the party, but we wouldn't be holding hands when we are alone since that obviously wouldn't be necessary to convince others." I nodded, "I get it." I said.

**6\. CONFIDENTIALITY. Lessor and his agents ill not at any time or in any manner,**

**either directly or indirectly, divulge, disclose, or communicate in any manner,**

**any information that is proprietary to this agreement and agrees to protect**

**such information and treat it as strictly confidential. This provision will**

**continue to be effective until the termination of this Contract.**

**7\. BREACH OF CONTRACT. If any of the above stipulations are not met, Contract will**

**be considered null and void. No recourse is available.**

  
**ADDENDUMS ** **1\. No deep, probing personal questions.**

**2\. No drama.**

"Talk to me about these addendums."

"The first is self-explanatory. We do not ask each other any deep, probing personal questions. It's irrelevant to our objective and will only cause problems. Do you really want me asking deeply personal questions about your life and past?" I tried to hide the effect the question had on me. "Nope, I'm good." He nods. "Exactly. This relationship should be so shallow there's no possibility of drowning." I nod my head in agreement. "And the second?" He looks me in the eyes. "No drama. Life's too short." I nod my head once again in agreement. "Then all that's left is your signature."

I looked at the signatory line. He had already signed the contract. "Why do I feel like I'm signing away my soul?" He chuckles. "It's not an eternity. It's just forty-nine days." I breathed out. "All right. Do you have a pen?"

"I'm a lawyer. That's like asking me if I have a hug." He says.

"As opposed to a heart," I say.

He extracted a pen from his coat pocket. It was a nice one-a Montblanc. I knew this only because my ex judged a man by the pen he carried. I took the pen from Zayn and signed the document.

"There are two copies," he says after a moment. "One for your own files. Please sign both." I drew the papers back to me, letting out a quiet laugh. "Now you're really sounding like a lawyer."

"I am one."

"So you keep reminding me." I folded the contract in half and put it into my bag. As I finish eating my salad, I say, "I better get back to work." He nods, brushing his pants off. "I'll walk you back to the elevator," he says. As we wait for the elevator, he begins to speak again. "Don't forget to bring your calendar tomorrow so we can work out our schedules."

"I'll be ready."

He leans forward just as the elevator door opens and presses his lips to my cheek. "Have a good day, dear."

"Thanks for lunch," I say. " _Cupcake."_

He smiled. "This is going to be fun."

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Bad memories can attach themselves like barnacles to the bulls of our lives._

_And, like barnacles, they have a disproportionately large amount of drag._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

 

Harry screamed. Cathy, our company bookkeeper, and I rushed out of our offices to see a florist deliveryman standing in the middle of the office holding a massive bouquet of yellow roses. It was one of the largest bouquets I'd ever seen, the kind people were more likely to send to the dead than the living. Of course, the man was drooling over Harry.

"They're gorgeous," Cathy said. "Who are they from?" I didn't think he was going to respond. "I don't know," Harry said. "Probably Paul. Or Quentin. Could even be Brody. So many men, so many possibilities." I rolled my eyes at his theatrics. "Oh, just set them there," Harry said, motioning to his desk. "It practically takes up my whole desk."

"And if I could have you sign right here." He handed Harry an electronic clipboard. His expression abruptly changed. "They're not for me." He looked up at me. "They're for you." They all looked at me. "Liam?" Cathy said, not even attempting to mask her surprise.

Just then Mark, our boss, walked into the room. "Those are pretty . . massive." He says, looking at Harry. "Who now?"

"They're not for me," he says. "They're for Liam." He looked at me, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Someone's got a fever for you." I walked over to my flowers, picking up a small, unsealed envelope attached to the vase, extracting the card.

_Dear Liam,_

_Happy Day 1._

_I hope the flowers brighten your day._

_Zayn x_

"Who are they from?" Cathy asks. "What?" I looked back at them. "Just . . a guy."

"What guy?" Harry asks. "My _boyfriend._ " The word came out awkwardly. They both looked at me with expressions of bewilderment. "You have a boyfriend?" Harry exclaims. "It's new," I said, lifting up the heavy vase and carrying it to my office. _Thank you, thank you, thank you,_ I thought. I couldn't wait to thank Zayn.

 *******  

Flowers are complicated. The last time I had received flowers from a man was a nightmare. I was in the hospital and I'd just come out of intensive care after almost dying from a burst appendix, but the pain I remember most wasn't caused by the operation. It was caused by my wife. But I'll share more of that later.

I debated over whether or not I should take the flowers home but finally decided to leave them at the office. I told myself that they were so big I doubted I could get them into my apartment without damaging them. But really I think I left them in the office in defiance of my co-workers' incredulity. Driving home, all I could think about was that it had been the best day I'd had in a long time.

*******

The next morning at work I was making copies of a travel itinerary for a group of high school students from Boise, Idaho, when I heard Harry greet someone.

"I have a delivery for Liam Payne," a man says. I walked out of my office. "That would be me." He looks at me, "Here you go," the man says, handing me a box. "What is it?" Harry asked. "I don't know," I respond. "It's wrapped." I opened the box and smiled. "Oh. Chocolate cordials." I wondered how he knew that I loved them. There was a card.

_Happy Day 2, Liam._

_So far so good?_

_Zayn x_  

"What are cordials?" Harry asks. "Chocolate-covered cherries," I answer. "Why don't they just call them call them what they are?" I want to laugh. "Because they're cordials," I respond. I take one out and pop it into my mouth. It was delicious. "Want one?" He nods. He looks a little injured as he walks over to me. "Tell me more about this guy." Even though it was the first time he'd ever asked me about my personal life, I didn't want to share. "He's really just more of a friend," I say.

"Guys don't send chocolates and massive flower bouquets just to be friends. There's always an agenda. What's the low-down?" He looks genuinely interested. "His name is Zayn." His eyes widen slightly. "What does he do?" Harry questions. "He's a lawyer on the seventh floor." A small gasp escapes his lips. "Zayn what?"

"Malik." He puzzled a moment then said, "As in Malik, Nelson, and McKay? You're dating one of the partners?"

"We're just.." The truth was, I didn't know whether or not he was a partner, but Harry's incredulity made me angry.

"Yes. Of course." He nodded his head slowly, almost as if to process the shocking news. "Oh," he said. "Well done." I watch him for a moment. "Don't look so surprised," I said. "It's just that you've never shown much interest in dating."

"Maybe I just hadn't met the right man," I replied. "Zayn is the right man?" I shrug. "Maybe." This was already more fun than I'd thought it would be. "I've decided to at least give him until Christmas."

"You're giving _him_ until Christmas?" He looked almost stunned. "I think that's enough time to see if I like him." He nods. "Okay," he says. He starts to turn away, and then says, "Oh, could you trade me lunchtimes today? I met this guy last night and he's coming to meet me."

"I'm sorry," I say. "I'm meeting Zayn."

You have no idea how good it felt saying no. It was the first time I'd ever turned him down. It was the first time I'd had a reason to.

*******

A little after noon I went to the food court. Zayn wasn't there yet, so I ordered my usual salad and sat down at my usual table. He showed up about ten minutes later. "I'm sorry I'm late," he says, clearly stressed. "Long-winged client, antitrust stuff. Too dull to discuss." I nod, "It's okay." I say.

He sat down across from me. "How was your day?"

"Good," I said. "Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful."

"Like you." I smiled a little. "And the chocolates."

"Do you like chocolate?"

"All women like chocolate. It's like a female catnip." He grinned. "I hoped as much." I let out a quiet sigh. "You don't need to spend so much, you know." He simply nods. "Are you going to get something to eat?"

"No, I'm sorry. I know we were going to go through our schedules today, but my morning fell apart and I have to get back to the meeting. I just didn't want to leave you hanging down here alone." I nod. "It's okay, I'm used to it." He frowns. "You shouldn't be," he says. "Is tomorrow okay?"

"Same place, same time."

"Thanks, I'll see you tomorrow. Bye, Liam."

"Bye." Then he got up and walked away. Maybe it was a small thing, but the fact that in spite of his busy schedule Zayn had come down to meet me meant even more than the flowers and chocolates.

Back where I was still married, my wife, Dani, invited me to lunch, then forgot about it. I waited alone for almost an hour before calling her. "Sorry, I forgot." She said, not a single trace of true sorrow. "I got distracted."

"Am I that forgettable?" I asked.

"Don't talk to me about _forgetting_ ," she said.

That shut me up. I hung up the phone, then broke down crying.

*******

I finished my lunch and went back to work.

 


	5. Chapter 5

_The lawyer and I made our plans for the next_

_seven_ _weeks._ _It looks like fun._ _Which is probably_

 _what the_ _last_ _Hindenburg passenger thought_

_as he boarded the blimp._

_Liam Payne's Diary_

 

The next morning I was booking rooms at a New York hotel when Harry walked in carrying a silver box from Nordstrom and set it on my desk. "It's from the lawyer," she whispers. Then she just stands there, waiting for me to finish the call. As soon as I hang up, she speaks normally. "Open it." She looked even more eager to see what's inside the box than I am. I open the card first.

_Day 3._

_It's been a cold winter,_

_Liam. I thought this might help._

_Zayn x_

"So what did lover Lover Boy send today?" Harry asks, sounding incredibly jealous. I'd be lying if I said that I didn't enjoy it. I raised an eyebrow, "Let's find out," I say. I untie the ribbon and lift the lid. Inside is a piece of light tan cloth. I lift it out. "It's a scarf," I say. "And it's relly soft." Just then, Harry reaches over and touches it. "It's cashmere." He instinctively goes for the label. "Pashmina from Bottega Veneta." He looks up t me. "You realize that's like six hundred dollars." I tried my best not to look impressed. "Really?"

He nods his head, "This guy's made of money. What does he drive?" I shrug my shoulders slightly, "I don't know." He raises his eyebrows, "How do you not know?" I let out a quiet laugh, "I haven't been out with him yet." His arms drop to his sides. "Amazing," he says, shaking his head as he walks out of my office. 

I wear the scarf to lunch.

Zayn is waiting for me near Cafe Rio. He stands, smiling, as I approach him. "I see you got my gift," he says, looking at the scarf. "What did I say about spending so much?" He looks slightly taken back, "You told me I didn't have to, which I already knew." I sigh uneasily, "I feel uncomfortable." He glances down at the scarf, "Why?" I shrug. "Then don't worry about it. I don't expect reciprocity, so you don't need to worry about anything. Just enjoy it." He looks into my eyes, "Or at least let me enjoy it, okay?" I nod. "Okay. Thank you. It's beautiful." He smiles slightly, "It's cashmere," he says. "I know. Harry told me. He's insanely jealous." I chuckle quietly. "Is a jealous Harry a good or bad thing?" I look at him, "Depends on who you ask." His left eyebrow rises, "I'm asking you." I turn slightly and look up at him again. "Definitely a good thing." He smiles.

"What are we eating today? Cafe Rio again?" I smile. "Of course." He laughs. "I should have just ordered for you. Before this is over I'm going to expand your culinary horizons. Save our place and I'll be right back. Sweet chicken salad, pinto beans, house dressing." I nod, "And a diet lemonade." He nods his head slowly before marching off to the line. 

Not wanting to get food on my scarf, I fold it up and stow it in my purse. Zayn returns a few minutes later with a tray full of food. "One salad with lots of sugar, and a lemonade sans sugar." I smile softly at him, "Thank you." He sits down. "What did you get?" I ask, examining his meal. "I thought I'd try the chiles Rellenos with some of this rice." He takes a bite, then asks, "Who is this Harry person?" I look down at my food before responding, "He's just someone I work with." A peculiar feeling sweeps through me. I didn't want him to know who Harry was. I didn't want him to meet him. I didn't want Harry to take him. 

"He's, like, gorgeous." He smiles, "Like you," he says. "No, he's really gorgeous." His expression changes immediately. He almost looks angry. "As opposed to what?" I watch him. "As oppose to me." He leans back for a moment, then says, "How long have you been this way?" He asks. "What way?" I snap back, defensively. "Self-deprecating." Suddenly, to my surprise, tears began to well up in my eyes. I don't answer. I was too embarrassed.

He doesn't back off. "What makes you think you're not gorgeous?" I don't make eye contact. "I'm not blind," I tell him. "I can look in a mirror." His voice softens. "Liam, anyone can open a book. Not everyone can appreciate the beauty of the writing. I want you to stop berating yourself. "It's just.." I wipe my eyes with a napkin. "Around my office, I'm not the one who gets the flowers." He lets out a sarcastic chuckle. "Funny," he says. "I could have sworn you told me you just got some." What was this man doing to me? "Can we just eat?" 

"I wanted to add something to our contract. For the length of our agreement, you will believe that you are beautiful." This time, it was my turn to let out a sarcastic chuckle. "You can't just change a belief." 

"People do it all of the time," he says. "Besides, it's contractual. You don't have a choice. You'd be amazing at what people accomplish under contract." 

"I don't know if I can do that."

"Then at least believe that I believe you're beautiful." 

I sit there, fighting back tears. "Can we please just change the subject?" 

"Will you agree to do this one thing for me?" 

Finally, I nod. 

"All right. Now we can eat." We eat for a few minutes until he says, "I'm going to run out of time, so we'd better start planning our season." He reaches into his briefcase and pulls out some papers. "I had my secretary print out copies of my calendar for the next two months. We can use it to plan." He hands me two pages, and I quickly look through them. Not surprisingly, he had a lot more going on than I did. I don't need a secretary to schedule my life. I don't even need a notebook.  

"You have two work parties," I note. "Yes, I'm sorry if that's excessive. There's an office party for the entire firm, then there's the partners' party." He says. "Gee, I wonder which one is nicer," I respond. "Actually, they're both nice." He pauses, "The company party is at La Caille."  

"Really?" La Caille was an expensive French restaurant in the foothills of the Wasatch Mountains. "That's nice." 

"You've been there?" 

"It's been a few years. Actually, I was there for a wedding. It's a bit above my pay grade. Where's the partners' party, the Grand America?" He laughs. "The partners' party is at one of our founder's homes." 

I go back to the beginning of the calendar. The first event Zayn had marked was the evening of November ninth. Tomorrow night. "What's this Hale Centre event?" I ask. "That's the Hale Centre Theatre's production of A Christmas Carol. I've heard it's great, I've just never wanted to go alone." He looks at me. "I know it's sudden. If you have other plans.." I shake my head quickly, "No, it's okay," I say. "I'm not busy." He looks pleased.

I move down the calendar. "What about the following weekend? You marked an event of the sixteenth." 

"There's nothing scheduled, but is there something you would like to do? We could go to the symphony, ballet, Walmart.." 

"Let me think about it," I say.

I move my fingers to the next week on the calendar.

"The next week is Thanksgiving."

"Thanksgiving is early this year. Do you have plans?" 

"I usually spent it with Dani's family." 

"Who is Dani?" 

"My ex." 

He looks at me quizzically, "Really?" 

"I know, it's weird. But I'm still close to her parents. The way they see it, their daughter divorced but they didn't. I think they like me more than they like her." 

"How does your ex feel about it?"

"She's strangely good ith it. In a twisted way, I think it makes her feel like she had a harem." 

"That's creepy." 

"That would describe her." 

"You don't have a better alternative? Family?

"There's no one close. My parents have both passed away. I have a sister in Minneapolis. She invites me to her house every year, but it's too expensive to fly out there for a day."

"You don't get frequent-flier miles with the travel agency?" he asks. Then he answers his own questions. "I guess you couldn't use them on Thanksgiving anyway. It's a blackout period." 

"I don't get them. I don't travel with the groups. We have people who do that. I just got the logistics, like booking hotels and admissions at some of the venues." 

He nods as he takes it all in, "So, back to Thanksgiving at your ex's family. I assume Dani and company wouldn't mind like me joining them. Disrupt the harem and all that." 

"No, that might be awkward." 

"Then would you be willing to join me?"

"With your family?"

He shakes his head, "No, in that department  we're in the same boat. I celebrate Thanksgiving with the family of our of the attorneys I work with." I nod. "What's their name?" 

"The Tomlinsons," he says. "Louis Tomlinson. Real nice family." I wrote the name on the calendar. "Louis joined the firm bout the same time I did. We were working over a Thanksgiving weekend on a big case, and he invited me to join them. I've been with them ever since." 

"Will they be okay if I come?" He laughs. "No, they'll be ecstatic. Sharon is always trying to me to invite someone."

"Then it's a date. Will I need to bring anything?" 

"I usually just pick up some pies from Marie Callender's." 

"I can make the pies," I say. "I like baking. I make a pumpkin pie that's to die for. And a pecan pie that's at least worth getting sick for." He grimaces. "That didn't come out right," I say. "I love pecan pie. You've got a deal." 

"How many people will there be?" I ask.

"About seven, including us."

"How many pies?

"I usually bring four. An apple, cherry, pumpkin, and mincemeat."

"Does anyone still eat mincemeat?" 

"Grandma Tomlinson does. She's ninety-six. When she dies, the industry will crumble." I laugh. "Maybe you could pick that one up." 

"I can do that."

We both look back down at the calendar. "The next week is our firm's Christmas party," Zayn says. "Saturday, December first."

"The one at La Caille?" He nods.

"That's the week of my work party too," I say. "It's that Wednesday." 

"Can you do both?"

"Absolutely. But I should warn you, it's not going to be La Caille. It's not even going to be Burger King, for that matter."

"I don't care," he says. 

"You have no idea how nice it will be to go with someone this year. Ever since I divorced, I've been the odd one out." 

"I think I have an idea," he says. "That's why we're doing this."

The next week there were two days marked on the calendar. December sixth and seventh. "What are these?" His expression falls quickly. "It's nothing," he says in a way that made me almost completely sure it was. "It's just..something I do." He moves on. "The next week, on the fourteenth, is the partners' party. Then the week after that I have to fly to New York City to meet with one of our clients, so we won't get together that week." He looks up at me. "Unless you come to New York with me." I can't tell if he's serious. "I'm afraid that would be out of my budget." 

"Travel expenses are in the contract."

I look at him. "You're serious," I say. To tell the truth, the idea of going to New York at Christmas thrilled me. "Let's see how things go." 

"That's wise," he replies.

"Then there's nothing until Christmas Eve?"

"What are your plans for Christmas Eve?" he asks. I was embarrassed to tell him that I hadn't anything planned. "Nothing. Yet." 

"How about we have dinner?" 

"That would be nice, where?" 

"I don't know, we can decide that later. We have seven weeks." 

"And then we're done," I say.

He slowly nods. "Exactly. The agreement is fulfilled, the contract is terminated." He slides his calendar into his briefcase, then he stands. "I better get back. I'll see you tomorrow at lunch, then tomorrow evening for the play." 

"Thanks for lunch," I say. I hold up the calendar. "And for all this." 

"It's my pleasure. I'm looking forward to it." 

"Me too." He looks into my eyes and says, "Liam." I look at him, "Yes?" 

"No more complaints about gifts. It's been a long time since I've had anyone to give to, and I'm having a lot of fun. Don't ruin it for me. Okay?" I nod and smile. "If you insist." His serious expression gives away to a small, soft smile. "I insist. Have a good day." As he starts to leave, I say, "Zayn?" 

"What kind of car do you drive?" He looks puzzled. "Why?"

"Harry wanted to know."

He grins mischievously, "Tell her it's a very expensive one." He blew me a kiss and walked off. As he disappears from sight, I took out my scarf and wrapped it around my neck. It had been a long time since I have felt this warm.


	6. Chapter 6

_Why is that we so easily confide secrets to strangers_

_that we so carefully hide from ourselves?_

_Liam Payne's Diary_

 

I once read that the secret to happiness is having something to do, something to look forward to, and someone to love. It must be true even if the love is contractual. The next morning was the first time in a long time that I woke up happy. I followed my usual routine of shower, health shake, then, looking at myself in the mirror, I took extra time to style my hair. I used to be good at styling it, but that was before I stopped caring. You don't take care of things you don't value. 

I was a few minutes late to work, but, considering all the late evenings and unpaid overtime I'd pulled over the years, I wasn't worried. 

"You're late," Harry said as I walked into the office. He was twisting his curls around his fingers. "I know," I said simply. 

Around ten o'clock, we were having a staff meeting when the bell on our door rang. "I'll get it," Harry said, standing. He was always the first to offer. He hated meetings. 

Five minutes later, when Harry hadn't returned, Mark said, "Liam, would you please remind Harry that we're in the middle of a staff meeting?"

"Sure," I said. I walked out into the front lobby. Harry was just standing there in a room filled with flowers. "The man's smitten," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It took two deliverymen to bring them all in." There were twelve dozen roses, half white, half red. If Zayn was making a point about sending me what he wanted, he'd succeeded. A minute later, Cathy walked out. "Holy florist. We're going to have to start changing this guy rent." She looked at me. "What are you going to do with all those?" I shrugged, "I have no idea."

"The delivery people said they'd be back to take them to your apartment," Harry said. "Here's the card that came with them." 

I unsealed the envelope.  

_Day 4._

_Next time you complain that I'm_

_spending too much,_

_I'm doubling it._

_Looking forward to tonight._

_Zayn x_  

I smiled. "What did he say?" Harry asked. "He's looking forward to our date tonight." 

"Where are you going?" 

"We're going to watch a play. A Christmas Carol."

"That sounds..fun." I knew that a play wouldn't be his idea of a good time. He looked at me for a moment, then said, "You know what the problem with all this is?" I looked at him, "No. What?" 

"No one can keep this up forever. Someday it's going to stop. And then it's all going to suck." 

"It's most certainly going to stop," I said. "The trick is to enjoy the ride while it lasts." Harry looked at me with surprise. "When did you get this attitude?" Then he looked closer at me. "Does your hair have gel in it?" 

*******

It was snowing when I got home from work. As usual, my apartment was a mess, so I picked up the place or, at least, organized the chaos-throwing my clothes in a hamper and loading the dishwasher. I was about to freshen up for the play when the doorbell rang. He better not be early, I thought. He wasn't. It was the florist. "I've got your flowers," the man said. I looked around my tiny apartment. "Bring them in."

"Where do you want them?" 

"Wherever they'll fit," I replied. 

My apartment was on the second floor of the building, and it took the man fifteen minutes to bring all the roses in from his truck. By the time he finished, it was twenty-five after. I quickly changed into some comfortable jeans and a sweater, fussed with my hair for a second, then went to put on some cologne but couldn't find any. Boy, you've got to back with it.

I remembered that I had an unopened bottle of cologne in the bottom of my closet-a gift from the guys at the office for my birthday last spring. I tore open the package and was spraying it on when the doorbell rang. I looked at myself one more time in the mirror, then hurried out past the garden of flowers, grabbing my coat on the way. 

I opened the door. Zayn was standing there holding a bouquet of yellow gerbera daisies. I almost laughed when I saw them. "You're kidding, right?"

"I wasn't sure what else to bring you," he said. "Let me find something to put these in. Come on in." 

He laughed when he saw the flowers splayed out over my front room. "You almost need a machete to get through here."

"Almost," I said.

I couldn't find a vase (other than the ones in my front room), so I filled the pitcher with water and arranged the flowers in it. When I came back out, Zayn was examining a picture on my wall of me with my sisters. "Are these your sisters?" I nod. "What're their names?"

"Ruth and Nicola." He smiled, looking back to me. 

"Shall we go?" I asked. "Sure," he said. Then added, "You look nice." 

"Thank you. So do you." He was dressed casually in a dark red sweater that was a little wet on the shoulders from falling snow. "I don't think I've ever seen you out of a suit."

"It's rare, but I do dress down on occasion." 

I took his hand as we walked down the stairs. His car was parked out front, a white BMW sedan. He held the door open for me as I got in. The interior was immaculate and smelled like cinnamon. The seats and doors were two-toned leather, embossed like a football. He shut the door, then went around and climbed in. "You have a nice car." 

"Thank you. I just got it a few months ago. The dealer said it's good in snow. I hope he's right. I turned your seat warmer on. If it's too hot, you can just adjust it." I nodded, smiling at him. 

He started the car. The heater and windshield wipers came on simultaneously, along with a Michael Buble Christmas album. "Is this music okay?" 

"I love Buble," I said. 

"Then Buble you will have." 

"It smells good in here," I said. "You smell good. What is it? Paco Rabanne?" 

"How in the world would you know that?" 

"My paralegal wears it." He pulled a U-turn, then drove out of my complex. "Thanks again for going to this with me. I've wanted to do this for awhile."

"It's my pleasure," I said. "I told Cathy where we were going, and she said she loves it. Her family goes every year." 

"Who's Cathy?" 

"Sorry, she's our bookkeeper." 

"Are all of your friends from work?"

I frowned, embarrassed by the question. "Yes." He glanced over. "It happens. All my friends are lawyers. Except you." 

Something about how he had said that made me glad. 

"Tell me about this play," I said.

"Hale Centre Theatre. They've been doing this for a long time. I'm kind of a sap when it comes to Christmas. I watch A Christmas Carol on TV at least twice every holiday season. My favorite television version is the one with George C. Scott." 

"Me too," I said. "I mean, that's my favorite version too." 

The Hale Centre Theatre was located on the west side of the valley, about fifteen minutes from my apartment. The place was crowded. We picked up our tickets at Will Call, then Zayn asked, "Would you like a drink or a snack?" I glanced over at the concession stand. "Maybe some popcorn." 

"Okay. Wait, it's not popcorn, it's kettle corn." 

"What's the difference?"

"You'll like it," he said. "It has sugar."

"How do you know I like sugar?" 

"You eat it on your salad," he said. 

We got a small box of kettle corn and climbed the stairs to the theater's entrance. The theater was in the round, and, not surprisingly, we had good seats, though in a theater that small I'm not sure there were any bad ones. 

After we sat down, I ate some kettle corn and said, "Picking up our tickets at Will Call reminded me of something dumb I did." He looked at me, "Tell me." 

"When I first started at ICE, Mark, he's the owner, sent me over to Modern Display to pick up some plastic display holders for a convention we were doing. He said to get them from Will Call. When I got there, I went up to the sales counter and asked for Mr. Call. There were two men there, and they both looked at me with funny expressions. One asked the other, 'Do you know a Call here?' He said, 'No.' Then he said to me, 'I'm sorry, there's no Mr. Call here. Do you know his first name?' I said, 'I think it's William or Will. My boss just said to pick it up from Will Call.' They laughed for about five minutes before someone told me why." Zayn laughed. "I did that exact same thing once." 

"Really?"

"No, I'm not that dumb." I threw a piece of kettle corn at him. "So, here's some trivia for you," he said. "Did you know the original name that Dickens gave his book was much longer? Its real title is A Christmas Carol in Prose: Being a Ghost Story of Christmas. A carol is a song or a hymn, so the abbreviated title doesn't really make sense." 

"I've never thought of that," I said.

"It's a much more influential book than most people realize. In a way, Dickens invented Christmas." 

"I'm pretty sure Christmas existed before Dickens was born." 

"True, but before A Christmas Carol, Easter was the biggest Christian celebration. December twenty-fifth was no more consequential than Memorial Day. In fact, the colony of Massachusetts had a law on the books prohibiting the celebration of the holiday. Christmas was considered a pagan celebration, and observing Christmas might cost you a night in the stocks."

"Why is that?"

"Mostly the timing, I suspect. The reason we celebrate Christmas on the twenty-fifth has nothing to with Christ's birth. In fact, we have no idea when Christ was born. The twenty-fifth was designated as Jesus's birthday by Pope Julius I, in order to attract new Roman members to the church because they were already celebrating the day in honor of the pagan god of agriculture. Which is why Christmas not so coincidentally takes place near the winter solstice." 

"I had no idea," I said.

"Also, interesting is that historically, Dickens and Friedrich Engels were contemporaries. They were both born in Manchester, England, at the same time and they were equally repulsed by the workers' living conditions." 

"Who is Friedrich Engels?" I asked.

"He was Karl Marx's inspiration for the Communist Manifesto. The early nineteenth century was a dark time for the workingman. The majority of the children born to working-class parents died before the age of five. So while Engels wrote about a political revolution, Dickens was writing about a different kind of revolution-a revolution of the heart. He was writing about the things he wrote about in his other books, the welfare of children and the need for social charity." He looked seemingly fond talking about his knowledge of these things. "How do you know all this?" 

"I'm a lawyer," he said, which again made no sense to me.

"What does that have to do with-" 

"Shh," he said, laying his finger across his lips. "The play is starting." 

As the lights came up at the end of the first half, just before Scrooge meets the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, I excused myself to go to the restroom. When I returned, Zayn was standing near our seats, talking to an incredibly attractive young man. He looked to be in his late twenties, with big blue eyes and coffee brown hair was neatly styled into a quiff.

"Liam, this is Niall," he said. "We used to work together." He smiled at me. "I was Z's legal secretary. It's nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you," I echoed. I took Zayn's hand, which he noticed. "Where's Hazel tonight?" Zayn asked. "With Grandma," he said. "Celine and I needed a night out. Looks like you do too." He turned to me. "Zayn's the best boss I've ever had, but an insatiable workaholic. I'm glad to see someone got him out of the office for a change." 

"This is the first time I've seen him without a tie," I said.

"I can believe that. I'm pretty sure that he sleeps with one on." He leaned forward, and they hugged. Then he walked around a secretion directly across the theater from ours. "How long did he work for you?" I asked. "Three, almost four years. A year ago he quit to raise his child with Celine." 

"He likes you."

"We worked well together," he said simply.

We sat back in our seats as the lights dimmed and the second half began. Near the end of the performance, I heard a sniffle. I furtively glanced over at Zayn as he wiped his eyes with a crumpled Kleenex. 

After the show, the cast came out to the lobby to shake hands with the audience. We thanked them for the performance before walking out into the cold night air. 

"That was really good," I said.

"I'm glad I finally got to see it."

"It affected you," I said. He nodded. "It's about redemption and hope." He looked me in the eyes. "Hope that we can be better than our mistakes."

His words struck me to the core. It was as if he knew me intimately.

It took me a moment to respond.

"Thank for you taking me."

"You're welcome," he said.

When we got back to his car, he asked, "Are you hungry?" 

"Famished."

"Do you like Thai food?" He asked. "I've never had it. But I'd like to try it." He smiled. "Good. I know a place." 

The restaurant was less than ten minutes from the theater. A young Thai woman seated us in a vacant corner of the restaurant and handed us menus. I looked mine over. "I have no idea what to order." I looked up at him. "How about I order a few dishes and we'll share?" I set my menu down. "Perfect." 

When our waitress came, Zayn ordered a bunch of things I couldn't even pronounce, and then said, "You'll love it." Then added, "Maybe." 

A few minutes later the waitress set two bowls of white soup on the table in front of us. "What's this?" I asked. "Coconut milk soup." 

Our waitress returned with a large bowl of noodles, two platters of curry dishes, and a large bowl of sticky rice.   
I dished up my plate with a little of everything. I liked it all, which wasn't too surprising since everything was sweet. 

In the middle of our dinner, Zayn asked, "Have you lived in Salt Lake your whole life?" 

"No. I was born in Arizona. I lived there until I was fourteen." 

"Where in Arizona?" 

"Chino Valley. Near Prescott. Do you know Arizona?" 

"A little," he replied. "I've spent some time there. What brought you here?" He asked. "My father," I responded. "Work?" He questioned. "No. It's more complicated than that," I said. "How so?" I hesitated. "My father was an interesting man." 

"By interesting, do you mean a 'fascinating individual' or a 'living hell'?" I laughed. "More of the latter," I said. Zayn continued looking at me in anticipation. "Are you sure you really want to hear this?" 

"I love to hear people's histories," he said. "Especially the interesting ones."

"All right," I said. "My father was fanatical. Actually, that's putting it mildly. He thought the world was going to hell, and the 'lunatic' Californians were buying up all the land around us, so he sold our farm and moved us to a little town here made up of ninety-six people. We made it an even hundred." 

"What town?" He asked.

"You've never heard of it," I said.

"Try me," he said.

"Montezuma Creek." 

"You're right," he sid. "Why there?"

"Because it was about as far from civilization as you could get. And, don't laugh, because there was only one road into town and he could blow it up when the Russian invaded." 

"Really?"

"It's true," I said. "He had a whole shed of dynamite and black powder." I shook my head. "The biggest thing that ever happened in Montezuma Creek was when the Harlem Globetrotters came to town. I don't know what brought them to such a small town. I guess they weren't that big anymore, but the whole town showed up. I think the whole county showed up." 

"What did your father do in Montezuma Creek? To provide?" He asked.

"We had greenhouses. Big ones. We mostly grew tomatoes. We sold them to Safeway." 

"How did you end up in Salt Lake?"

"I just got out as fast as I could." 

"Didn't like the small-town life?" 

"I didn't like my father," I said softly. "He talked constantly about the end of days and the world being evil and corrupt, but the truth is, _he_ was evil and corrupt. And violent and cruel. I lived in constant fear of him. I remember I was at our town's little grocery store when a man I'd never met said to me, 'I feel sorry for you.' When I asked why, he said, 'That you have that father. He is one awful man.' My father was always trying to prove that he was in control. Once I told him I was excited because we were to have a dance lesson at school, so he made me stay home that day for no reason. Some days he would keep us home from school just to prove that the government couldn't tell him what to do."

I took a deep breath, "He would rant that the police were just the henchmen of an Orwellian government conspiracy, and anytime one tried to pull him over, he'd try to outrun them. It was a perverse game with him. Sometimes he'd get away, sometimes they'd catch him, and they'd drag him out of the car and handcuff him, which only proved his point that the police were brutal. He lost his license, but that was irrelevant to him. He didn't see that the government had any right to tell a person whether they could drive or not." 

I looked down, sucking my lip in between my teeth before releasing it and speaking again. "I remember watching him being handcuffed and arrested, and I was afraid they were going to take me to jail too. I grew up terrified of the police. Police and snakes." 

"Snakes?" Zayn asked. I nodded. "My father used to think it was funny to chase me around the house with live rattlesnakes. I remember him holding one on a stick and it trying to strike at me." I looked at the fork, resting on the table. "I have a terrible phobia of snakes. I can't even see a picture of one without being paralyzed with fear." 

"That's abuse," Zayn said. I nodded, "He was all about abuse. Only he didn't see it that way. He saw us as property, and, if something is yours, you can do what you want to it. Property doesn't have needs. Property only exists to suit your needs." I looked at him, "One time we had a problem with our truck. He said it was the carburetor, so he made my sister lie on the engine under the hood and poor gasoline into the carburetor while we drove. What kind of fathers put his kid under a hood of a moving vehicle?" 

"A deranged one," Zayn said. "What were his parents like?" 

"That's the strange part. My grandparents were sweet people. They used to apologize to me for him. Once my grandmother said, 'We don't know what happened to him, dear.' He considered reading for entertainment a waste of time. Once he found me in my room reading a Mary Higgins Clark book and he was furious. He called me lazy and said that if I had time to waste, he'd find me something for me to do. He made me go out and more the entire woodpile from one side of the house to the other. It took me four fours. And I was terrified the whole time because snakes hid in the woodpile. Twice I found rattlesnakes when bringing firewood." 

Zayn looked sad. "I'm so sorry." 

"Thanks," I said. "More than anything, I just wanted to be loved. In a small town like that, there aren't a lot of romantic options. Once I told my father that a boy walked me home from school, and my father beat me and sent me to my room for the night. He called a worthless faggot. I believed him. I felt so guilty about it." 

He watches me, "You couldn't see that you'd done nothing wrong?" I shook my hed. "The thing is, when you grow up with crazy, you don't know what sane is. You might suspect that there's something better, but until you see reality, it's impossible to comprehend." I sighed.

"A year after I was married, I caught my father with another woman. They were kissing. He lied about it at first, but when he saw that I didn't believe him, he admitted that he was having an affair and told me not to tell my mother." 

He asked, "Did you?" 

I shook my head, "No. But not because he said not to. My mother was kind of a doormat. It would have done nothing but humiliate her. She found out later on her own. It's the only time I ever saw her yell at him. But she still didn't leave him. He had alienated all of her family, so she really had no place to go. By the time I turned eighteen, I couldn't take it anymore. I left high school and got a job more than three hundred miles away, at Bryce Canyon Lodge as a waitress. It was a good gig. They paid almost nothing, a dollar six an hour, but there was free food and lodging, and we got to keep all our tips. We just had to work two meals a day. The people at the lodge were really nice, and I made a lot of money in tips. Enough to pay for my first year of college." 

I kept going, "Every now and then celebrities would come through. I met Robert Redford once. He was really nice. He told me that I smelled like lilacs. I met people from all over. That's when I knew that I wanted to travel and see the world. But I think it was probably more that I wanted to get as far away from Montezuma Creek as I could." I forced a smile. "I didn't get too far, I guess. I carried a lot of it with me." 

"It's hard to leave some things behind," he said. "So how did you turn out so lovely?" I just looked at him. Suddenly, my eyes welled up with tears. He reached over and took my hand. When I could speak, I said, "Thank you." 

"Is your father still alive?" I shook my head, "No. He died of cancer. Both of my parents did. They both grew up neat the Nevada Proving Ground, where the government tested nuclear weapons. For dates, they used to go out and watch them detonate atom bombs. Crazy, huh? They didn't know any better." Zayn just shook his head. "He was a downwinder." 

"You're familiar with that?" 

"Intimately. Our firm handled a massive lawsuit against the federal government involving downwinders." 

"Well, I'm sure my father was part of it." I sighed. "I remember going back and seeing him before he died. He was so frail and weak. I thought,  _Is this really the man who filled with such terror, who towered over my past?_ He was nothing. His meanness drained out. He was like a snake without venom. He was nothing but a hallow shell." He looked at me, then said, "They that see thee shall narrowly look upon three, and consider thee, saying Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms? Isaiah 14:16." 

"You ready the bible," I said. "At times," he replied. "So you went to college in Salt Lake?" I shook my head. "No, I went to Snow College. My best friend from Montezuma Creek asked if I wanted to be his roommate, so I took him up on it." 

"Snow College," he said. "Isn't that in Manti?" He asked. "It's the town next to it," I said. "Ephraim. The one with all the turkey farms. Sometimes turkey dander would settle over the school. I was horribly allergic to it." He asked, "To turkey dander?" I nodded. "That's where I met my ex-wife, Dani." I paused. "Dani. Dan. Dan-der. I never made that connection before." He laughed. "Dander. I like that." I smiled, "Dani was from Salt Lake. She was doing her general ed at Snow because it was cheaper than the university here. She was ambitious back then. Said we'd see the world together. Then she left college to sell water purifiers. Dani wasn't very nice, but that's what I was used to. The truth was, she was my way out. A counselor once told me that Dani was my 'vehicle of emancipation.' I think she was right. I followed Dani to Salt Lake, and we got married. We were married for eight years before she divorced me."

"Why did she divorce you?" I looked at him and said, "Wasn't there a clause in our contract about deep and probing questions?"

"You're right. I crossed the line." 

"Well, technically, we crossed the line about ten minutes ago," I said. "It's okay. Dani divorced me because she was cheating on me with my best friend." 

"Your college roommate?" 

"Yeah, she's now married to him." 

"Remarkable," Zayn said. "What was your divorce settlement like?"

"Not good. It's not like Dani had much money, but I didn't get anything." 

"Sounds like you had a poor attorney."

"No, he had a poor client."

"Why?" 

I looked down. "Some people are born thinking they're pretty important. Some aren't." 

Zayn nodded slowly as if he understood. I took a deep breath, "So now that I've spilled all of my secrets, let's talk about you." 

"That's a nonstarter," he said. "Really? After I just shared my entire life history, you're holding out on me?"

"I'm only saving you from boredom." 

"I think there are some answers that might interest me."

"Such as?"

"To begin with, why aren't you married?" He looked at me for a moment, then said, "Isn't that why I asked for this contract? So I didn't have to answer that question?"

"I still want to know." He looked at me thoughtfully and after a moment said, "A lot of people aren't married. A lot of people are married who shouldn't be."

"You're evading the question."

"It's complicated," he said. "Is that all I get?" He nods, "For now." 

"Then tell me about your childhood." He frowned. "It's nowhere near as exciting s yours. I was born and raised in the Sugar House area. My parents were quiet, conservatives Mormons. I went to church until I was sixteen, until.." He stopped and a shadow fell over his face. "Until things changed."

"What happened?" 

"Just things," he said. "My dark ages. It took me a few years, but I pulled myself out. From then on it was all school and work. I finished college and took the LSAT. I got accepted to Standford Law School on a scholarship, graduated at the top of my class, then came back here to practice law." 

"You started working at the firm you're at now?" I asked. He hesitated before answering. "No, I worked at the prosecutor's office. I kept beating them in court, so they made me an offer." 

"That must be nice," I said.

"What must be nice?" He asked with his eyebrow raised slightly. "To be wanted like that." He suddenly went quiet. Then he said, "I'm sorry. That whole conversation got pretty heavy. I just wanted to get to know you better."

"Well, you know it all now."

"Do I?" I didn't answer. After a moment of silence, he picked up the check. "Let's get you home."

It was cold in the restaurant's parking lot, and our breath froze in front of us. The cars were all covered with a thin veneer of freshly fallen snow. He started his car, turned on the heater and window defroster, and then got out and scraped the windows. When he got back in, his hands were wet and red with the cold. He rubbed them together. "Let me see them," I said. 

He looked at me curiously, then held them out. I cupped them in my hands and breathed on them. He smiled, "Thank you."  
We didn't say much on the way home. I suppose I felt talked out. But the silence wasn't uncomfortable. When we pulled up in front of my apartment he said, "Thanks again for going with me." 

"It was fun," I replied. "I'm sorry I talked so much."

"I enjoyed learning about you," he responded. "Well, I kind of threw up on you. I guess it's been a while since I've had anyone ask me about myself." 

"I'm glad it was me," he said. I smiled at him, then said, "Me too. Have a good weekend." He smiled back, "You too. I'll see you on Monday."

I got out of the car and walked up the snow-covered sidewalk to my apartment stairs, leaving footprints as I went. Zayn waited until I reached the door. I turned back and waved. He waved back then drove away. 

Not surprisingly, my apartment smelled like roses. I went into my bedroom and undressed, turned out the light, then lay back on my bed.

"Who are you, Zayn?" I said into the darkness. "And what are you doing with me?"

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

_People talk of life's storms as_

_if_ _they are universal experiences._

 _But they're not._ _Some people hear_ _thunder_

 _while_ _others touch lightning._

 _Liam Payne's Diary_  

**Three Years Earlier**

I couldn't sleep because of the pain. At first, I thought it was an upset stomach. Then, as the pain increased, an ulcer. An ulcer made sense. I was a worrier. I'd worried my whole life. 

While my wife, Dani, slept, I downed a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, which did nothing to relieve my agony. Finally, at four in the morning, I woke Dani, and she reluctantly drove me to St. Mark's Hospital emergency room. It wasn't an ulcer, it was appendicitis. And my appendix had burst. I was rushed into surgery and spent the next two days in intensive care being fed massive doses of antibiotics to attack the infection that had set in. On the third day, I had shown enough progress that they moved me out of the ICU. 

Dani came to see me that afternoon bearing a bouquet of spring flowers. It was only the second time I had seen her since I was admitted, and, in spite of her absence, I was glad to see her. We had talked for only about a half hour when she said she had to get back to work. Dani was working as a telemarketer and managed a phone solicitation office. After she left, I was just lying there looking at the flowers when one of my nurses walked in. Keti was a Tongan woman as wide as she was tall. 

"Oh, aren't you lucky," she said. "Somebody loves you." I smiled. "Aren't they nice? They're from my wife." 

"You hang on to her, honey. I can't tell you the last time my husband brought me flowers." She looked up at me. "Oh wait, I don't have a husband." She walked to my side. "How are you feeling?" 

"It hurts where they made the incision." 

"That's usual. An appendectomy is like a cesarean, except you don't get a baby for it." 

"I feel a little warm."

"Warm? Like a fever?"

"Yes." 

She sidled up to my bed. "I was just about to check your temperature." She rubbed an electronic thermometer across my forehead and frowned. "You have a temperature. A hundred and two point four. I don't like that." 

"What does that mean?"

"Maybe a little infection," she said as she checked my chart. "You're already on a pretty high dosage of antibiotics, but let me see if the doctor wants to up your dose a little."

"Thank you."

As she scribbled on her clipboard, I heard the vibration of a cell phone. We both looked around to see where it was coming from, then Keti discovered an iPhone lying next to the flowers. "Is this yours?"

I shook my head, "No. It's probably my wife's. She must have left it."

I reached out my hand for it. 

"I'll text her office and let them know I have it." 

"How sweet," Keti said looking at the screen. "Amore. Is that what she calls you?"

"Amore?" I looked at her blankly. 

"No.."

She handed me the phone. "It's right here."

**Mi Amor**

**Text Message**

_Amor? My love?_ Who's calling my wife Amor? No, that's not how it works. Who is my wife calling Mi Amor? I pressed the notification. 

**Mi Amor**

**Are you on your way?**

**October 11, 2009 1:04 PM**  

I started reading backward through the thread of messages.

**Mi Amor**

**Your so good**

**October 11, 2009 12:55 PM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**Not now. After he is back he is back home. Feeling better**

**October 11, 2009 12:54 PM**

 

**Mi Amor**

**:( When are you going to tell him?**

**October 11, 2009 12:52 PM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**He's doing okay. Made it through a hard time**

**October 11, 2009 12:51 PM**

 

**Mi Amor**

**After. You'll be glad! ;-) How is Liam?**

**October 11, 2009 12:49 PM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**:) On way to hospital to see Liam. I love you**

**October 11, 2009 12:45 PM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**Just had the sweetest dream of you.**

**I miss you. Can I come over?**

**October 11, 2009 12:42 PM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**Ditto. Ditto. Ditto. Please. Please. Please!!!**

**October 11, 2009 10:07 AM**

 

**Mi Amor**

**Floating. Last night was unbelievable.**

**We need a rerun ASAP!!!**

**October 11, 2009 9:42 AM**

 

**Fancy Dani**

**How is my dreamboy today?**

**October 11, 2009 9:39 AM**

 

There were more. Much more. I couldn't read them because my eyes were filled with tears.

"Honey?" Keti said. 

I looked up at her, "My wife is cheating on me." She sighed deeply, "I'm sorry." 

Just then, Dani walked back into the room. "Hi, babe, I forgot my phone." 

I looked at her, shaking from anger, unable to speak. 

"Why do you look so sad?" She looked at Keti. "Is he in pain?" 

"I would think so," Keti said, her eyes narrow with anger. "Can you get him something for it?" 

"Not for this pain."

She looked at her quizzically, then back over at me. 

"Honey.."

"Who is he?" I said. 

"I'll check on your antibiotic," Keti said, making her way toward the door. It sounded ridiculous, like telling someone in a hurricane that you would be back to wash their windows. She brushed by Dani on the way out. 

"Who?" she asked, her eyes stupidly wide. 

"Who is Mi Amor?" 

She stepped toward me. "I don't know what you're about."

I held up her phone. 

"Who is Mi Amor?" 

"Liam.."

"If you have something to tell me, tell me now." 

"It's nothing. He's nothing." 

"I read the texts. Don't lie to me." 

For a moment, we looked at each other, then she breathed out slowly as if she'd resigned herself. 

"Okay, so you caught me. I'm having an affair."

"Who is he?" 

She looked even more uncomfortable.

"Do I know him?" 

"Andy," she said. 

The only Andy I knew was my best, and only, friend and the thought that he would cheat with my wife was so far beyond possibility that I couldn't process it.

"Andy who?"

"Andy," he said again but with more emphasis.

_"My Andy?"_

"Yeah." 

My pain doubled. When I could speak, I asked, "How long has this been going on?" She watched me. "How long?" She looked down slightly before whispering, "A while." 

I broke down again. She stepped forward and put her hand on my arm. "Liam." I jerked my arm away, "Don't fucking touch me."

"Liam," she said in the condescending register she used when she thought I was being overly dramatic. 

"Leave," I said. "Go to your . . amor."

"I'm not going anywhere," she said. 

"Get the fuck out!" I shouted.

Just then, Keti walked back into the room. She must have heard our conversation because she looked angry. "You need to leave," she said pointing  sausage finger at Dani. 

"He's my husband," Dani said. "I don't need to go anywhere."

Her voice rose. "He's _my_ patient and this is _my_ house, and if he wants you to leave, you leave." She walked to a button on the wall. "Or should I call security?"

Dani glared at her, then looked back at me. "It's your fault, Liam. You're the one who ruined our lives. You have no one to blame but yourself." She turned and walked away. Two days later I was still in the hospital when Dani filed for divorce. 


	8. Chapter 8

 

_Today I overheard Harry and Cathy talking about Zayn._

_It's not what they said about him that hurts._

_It's what they were implying about me._

_Liam Payne's Diary_

 

Mondays were always the hardest days at ICE. Invariably there would be some crisis that had occurred over the weekend: lost luggage, a canceled flight, a broken-down bus, or any of the thousand things that can go wrong when traveling with groups. That doesn't even include the things our students did. Like the time three of the boys were arrested in New York for dumping soda on people on the sidewalk below the hotel. 

This Monday was no different. It began with our usual staff meeting and Mark ranting about a phone call he'd received over the weekend from a parent whose daughter claimed she had gotten pregnant on one of our trips. The mother had concluded that it was all our fault. I had to contact the teacher who had chaperoned the excursion and tell her what had happened. She already knew. The mother had already gone after her as well, threatening her with a lawsuit and assorted calumny. 

I had just hung up the phone with the teacher when Harry brought in a package and set it on my desk. All she said was "Here." 

Happy for the distraction, I unwrapped the paper, then opened the box. Inside was a beautiful, ornate hand mirror. It was oval-shaped with a twisted handle. The frame was tarnished silver that looked almost pewter. I opened the note.

_Liam, Happy Day 7._

_Thank you for an enlightening weekend._

_I've sent you a new mirror._

_Hopefully it works better than the_

_one you've been using._

_Zayn x_

 

_P.S. This is an 1807 antique._

_The metal is silver._

_The woman at the antique shop_

_said the best way to clean it is with a cup_

_of white vinegar, a tbsp of baking soda,_

_and a pinch of soda._

"So what did you get today?" Harry asked.

I held up the mirror. "A hand mirror. It's an antique." 

"It's pretty," he said simply, then left my office.

About a half hour later I went out to use the bathroom and was in one of the stalls when Harry and Cathy came in together. It was soon obvious that they didn't know I was there.

"So what do you think of all this?" Harry asked. 

"All what?" Cathy asked. 

"Liam's sugar daddy." 

"Good for him," Cathy said. "He needed something. Have you met the guy?"

"No. But I'm not looking forward to it. You know what they say, the amount of money a guy spends on someone is in inverse ratio to his looks. He's probably some fat, bald guy with ear hair."

"At least he's rich," Cathy said.

"Rich doesn't make a man hot," Harry said.

"No, but it can hide a lot of ugly," Cathy said, laughing. 

I was furious. I was about to say something I would no doubt regret, but I calmed myself down. I waited until they left before going back to the office. When I got back to my desk, I looked up Zayn's law firm's number and dialed. A professional voice answered. "Malik, Nelson, and McKay."

"Hi, I'm calling for Zayn Malik." 

"Just a moment please."

The music on hold was Rachmaninoff, which I knew only because I was an Eric Carmen fan. A half minute later, a young female voice answered, "Zayn Malik's office. This is Sabrina speaking. How may I help you?" 

"Hi, Sabrina. I'm calling for Zayn." 

"Mr. Malik is a meeting right now, may I tell him who's calling?"

"It's not important. This is Liam."

There was hardly a pause. "Liam Payne?"

I was surprised that she knew who I was. "Yes."

"Just a moment, please." 

I was on hold for less than ten seconds before Zayn answered. "Liam."

"Zayn, I'm sorry to bother you." 

"I'm pleased you called, unless you called to cancel lunch, in which case, I'm pleased to hear your voice, but not that you called." 

I smiled. "No, I'm not calling to cancel. I just wanted to see if you'd do something for me."

"Name it." 

"Would you mind coming up to my office today to get me for lunch?"

"I would love to." 

"I'm in office 322." 

"I know."

Of course, he did.

"Thank you for the mirror," I said quietly. "It's pretty." 

"Like you," he said. "I'll see you at twelve-thirty. Bye." 

I hung up the phone. "Fat and bald with ear hair," I said.

Then I realized what I had done. He was going to meet perfect Harry.

*******

Zayn was punctual. I heard Harry greeting him with his come-hither voice. "Hi. May I help you?"

I waited inside my office, listening to the exchange. "I'm here for Liam," he said.

"May I tell him who's calling?" 

"Zayn," he said.

Long pause. "You're Zayn?"

"You must be Harry."

"Yes. I am." I had never heard him sound so awkward. 

"It's a pleasure meeting you," Zayn said. 

"I've heard a lot about you," Harry said in response.

"I'm glad to hear that," he said. "I assumed I was just one of Liam's many admirers."

Harry said nothing as I walked out. Zayn looked over at me and smiled. He couldn't have dressed better for this appearance. He looked gorgeous in an Armani suit with a crisp white silk shirt and crimson tie. "And there he is," he said. He walked up to me and kissed me on the cheek. "I hope it's okay I came by early." 

"It's fine," I said.

"Great. I was hoping you'd have time for me to take you to lunch. The owner of the New Yorker is a friend of mine, and he has a special table waiting for us. If you have time, that is." 

Just then, Cathy walked out of her office. She stopped when she saw Zayn. She didn't have to say what she was thinking. "Hi." 

Zayn stepped forward, offering his hand. "Hi, I'm Zayn." 

"Cathy," she said, sounding unsure of herself. "It's nice to meet you." 

"Likewise," he said. He turned back to me. "So the New Yorker is okay?" 

"Of course," I said, doing my best to sound magnanimous. 

"Let me get my coat." 

As I returned to my office, I heard Zayn say, "The table I can get with a phone call, but Liam, I have to pray he can fit me in."

I walked back into the room, and he reached out his hand to me. "Come on, love." 

"Bye," I said to Hary. "I might be a few minutes late." 

"Take your time," he said meekly. 

As we walked out into the hallway, I just looked at him. He was smiling.

"Thank you," I said.

"Is that what you wanted?"

"That was perfect. Are we really going to the New Yorker for lunch?"

"Of course. I told you I'd broaden your culinary horizons." 

*******

The New Yorker was just a few blocks from the mall. The restaurant didn't have a formal dress code, but everyone inside was professionally attired. It was the kind of place where movers and shakers met and business deals were made. Needless to say, I had never been there before.

After the hostess had seated us at a table for two, Zayn leaned forward. "So tell me what that was all about."

"The people in the office have been intrigued by the gifts you've been sending. I overheard them talking this morning. Harry said, and I quote, 'the amount of money a guy spends on a person is in inverse ratio to his looks. He's probably some fat, bald guy with ear hair.'"

"Did I dispel any of that?" He asked, smugly.

"I think you left them speechless."

"Good," he said. "Fortunately, I plucked my ear hairs this morning." 

"That's just wrong." I laughed. "Can I tell you something honest?"

"Of course," he said, nodding.

"I didn't want you to meet Harry."

"Why is that?"

"I was afraid you might want to trade up." 

"No disrespect, but that would be like trading champagne for Kool-Aid."

I grinned. "That's _totally_ disrespectful." 

"Not to you," he said.

"And thank you again for the mirror. It's beautiful. As is the thought behind it." 

"Did I impress you with the cleaning tips?"  
"I was _very_ impressed." 

He smiled. "I thought you would be. So are you ready to order?"

"No." I looked through the menu. "What do you recommend?"

"The tomato soup is always good," he said.

"Why don't you just order for me?" 

"I'd be happy to. Something to drink?" 

"I'd like a glass of wine."

"Okay," he said. He ordered a glass of Chianti for me, a cranberry juice for himself, and our meal. That was the first time I realized that I had never seen him drink. I wondered if he did.

As the waiter walked away, I asked, "So what's next on our agenda?"

"It's your call. You were going to come up with something for our weekend." 

"I have an idea," I said. "There's something I've always wanted to do."

"Name it," he said.

"Do you sing?"

He nodded slowly, "In the shower."

I grinned, "That will do."

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

_The Golden Rule is a two-edged sword._

_If some of us treated others as we treated ourselves,_

_we would be jailed._

_Liam Payne's Diary_

 

I had always looked forward to Fridays, but now the weekdays were better. The whole office anticipated Zayn's daily gifts. The FedEx man delivered my Friday gift around eleven.

"What is it?" Cathy asked as I opened the box.

"It's New York cheesecake. It's really from New York." Cathy read the label. "S&S cheesecake from New York. Zagat rated number one."

"I'll get some plates," I said.

"Really?" Cathy said. "You're going to share?"

"If I ate that much cheesecake by myself, I would like our Christmas tree."

"Bless you, child," Cathy said.

Mark walked out of his office. "Did someone say cheese-cake?"

"Liam is sharing the cheesecake his friend sent him."

He walked over and looked at the box. "S&S cheesecake," he said. "I've heard of that. It's the best. And pricey. They sell it by the ounce. Like gold."

I cut up the cheesecake up with a plastic knife, and work stopped while everyone ate. Mark closed his eyes as he savored a bit. "Incredible," he said. "If you don't marry that guy, I will."

"Your wife might have something to say about that," Cathy said.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said, "I've got first dibs."

*******

Zayn and I didn't have lunch that day because he was in court, but that evening he picked me up at my apartment at six. "How was your day?" I asked, as we walked to his car.

"Good. We won."

"Do you always win?"

"No. But more than I lose." He opened the car door for me then walked around and got in. "How was your day?"

"Good," I said. "The cheesecake was a hit."

"It doesn't get better than S&S."

"How did you know about them?"

"I'm not as provincial as you might think."

"Believe me, I've never thought of you as provincial. You're the most cosmopolitan person I know."

"Well, I'm definitely not that either. I just love cheesecake, and I discovered S&S from a client who sent me one last Christmas. That's one of the advantages of having rich clients."

The holiday traffic was heavy as we made our way downtown to Abravanel Hall, Salt Lake City's main concert hall and home to the Utah Symphony. The hall was designed by the same acoustical consultant who had designed the Avery Fisher Hall renovation in New York and the Kennedy Center in Washington, D.C. In the hold-leafed lobby was a thirty-foot-tall red blown-glass sculpture designed by renowned glass artist Dale Chihuly.

The event I had chosen for us was a Messiah sing-in with the Utah Symphony, which basically meant that we were part of a three-thousand-member choir. To make sure we sounded good, the signing organizers brought in a few ringers, peppering the audience with about a hundred voices from the University of Utah and the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. We were handed paper scores as we walked into the concert hall.

"I thought we were going to hear a choir sing the Messiah," Zayn said to me as we found our seats. "I didn't realize we were the choir."

"It's more fun this way," I said. "I asked if you sing."

"I just thought you were curious."

We sounded better than I thought we would. After the concert, we drove to Ruth's Chris Steak House. I had the petite filet while Zayn ordered the Cowboy hamburger. He also ordered a tomato and onion salad to share, a seared ahi tuna appetizer (something I'd never had before), and a sweet potato casserole, which I could have eaten for dessert.

"How do you eat like this and stay thin?" I asked. "Simple," he replied. "I don't always eat like this."

"I think I've gained a few pounds since I signed the contract. You're spoiling me," I said. "I'm not sure all this spoiling is a good thing."

"Why would spoiling you not be a good thing?"

"Because in five weeks our contract is going to expire, and then where am I?"

"I don't know," he replied. "Where are you?"

I shrugged. "Certainly not eating here."

He looked at me for a moment, then said, "Do you know what I like most about you?"

"I have no idea," I said. "How grateful you are. In a world of growing increasingly entitled, you are truly grateful. It makes me want to do more for you."

"You already do too much," I said.

"My point exactly," he replied. "You're a beautiful soul."

"Fortunately for me, you don't really know me."

"No, you told me everything there was to know about you last week."

"Not everything."

He was quiet for a moment, then said, "I probably know you better tan you think."

That statement struck me as peculiar. "What do you mean by that?" He paused for another moment before he said, "I'm just a very good judge of character."

"That may be," I said. "But the thing is, you don't know what you don't know. No one's perfect. Some of us aren't even that good."

Looking at me seriously, he said, "What I do know is that everyone makes mistakes. That's why forgiveness is so important. Unfortunately, so many of us are bad at it." He let his words settle before continuing. "When I worked for the prosecutor's office, one of my first cases was a man who had shot to death a clerk at a convenience store. We had video of the crime, and I thought it was an open-and-shut case. But because of a technicality we lost. As we were leaving the courthouse, the man slapped me on the back and said, 'Thank you, Counselor.' I said, 'For what?' And he said 'For screwing up the case. Of course I killed him. But there's nothing you can do now.'"

"He confessed?" I asked.

"Right there on the courthouse steps."

"Why didn't you just go back in and tell the judge?"

"It wouldn't have done any good. It's called double jeopardy. He can't be tried again for the same offense. It's in the Fifth Amendment to the Constitution. 'Nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb.' The concept was of such importance to the founding fathers that they actually made an amendment to the Constitution for it. But that's in a court of law. In our hearts, there's no such thing. People punish others over and over for the same mistake. We do it to ourselves. It's not right, but still we do it."

I felt like he was reading my mind. He watched me silently. "Liam, you're not as bad as you think you are. Remember that."

When I could speak I said, "So the man was never punished?"

"Actually, his case turned out a little differently. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't leave well enough alone. He wrote a letter to the prosecutor's office, bragging that he'd gotten away with murder and stating very specific details of his crime. We reopened the case based on new evidence, and he was found guilty."

"Fool," I said.

"Yes, he was." Zayn changed the subject. "So the Tomlinsons are very excited that you will be joining us for Thanksgiving. Do you still want to bake those pies?"

"Yes," I said. "Except the mincemeat."

"I've already ordered it. When will you bake the others?"

"Wednesday night after work."

"Would you like some help?"

"Making pies?"

"I don't know how much help I'll be, but I'll keep you company."

"I would love your help," I said. "And your company."

"Great. I'll be there. I'll bring dinner."

*******

That night as I lay in bed remembering our date, I had a frightening realization. My feelings for Zayn were growing bigger than the contact I'd signed. I wondered if he felt the same way. Not that it matters. In spite of everything Zayn had said about forgiveness and redemption, I knew there was no chance we could ever be more than friends. Not if he knew the truth about me. Not if he knew what I'd done. Not if he knew my darkness.

 


	10. Chapter 10

_Oftentimes, the hottest fires of hell are fueled from within._

_Liam Payne's Diary_

**Five Years Earlier**

June 2007 was hot. The whole world was hot. Greece reported their worst heat wave in history with eleven heat-related deaths, and the entire European power grid nearly collapsed beneath unprecedented demand for air-conditioning.

It was equally hot in the western part of the United States. In Salt Lake City temperatures which normally would have been in the high eighties exceeded a hundred degrees. Our apartment's swam cooler struggled to keep things tolerable, and the first thing I did on waking was turn it on to full before getting ready for work.

Danielle never helped me in the mornings. She said it wasn't her "thing," whatever that meant. I resented her for that. In spite of the fact that I worked longer days than she did, I would get up at least an hour before her to get ready, make breakfast, then get our little girl, Aiden, fed and ready for the day. The one thing that Dani did that was helpful was drop Aiden off at day care, since it was only three blocks from her office.

However even that had now changed. I had grown weary of Dani's constant complaints about the cost of Aiden's day care, so a week earlier I had found another place at nearly half the price. Since it was on my way to work, now I would have to leave even earlier to drop her off. I didn't like the place a much as the day care where we'd been taking her, but since Dani's commissions were always down during the summer, I decided it was at least worth giving it a try. I wasn't used to the new routine, and one day I'd forgotten to dop her off and had to turn around just a block from my work and take her to the new place.

On this morning, Aiden was unusually quiet as I got her out of bed. "Are you tired, sweetie?" I asked.

"Yes, Daddy," she replied.

"I'm sorry you had to get up so early. I made you Mickey Mouse pancakes."

She smiled. I fed both of us at the same time. Dani stumbled out of bed as I was finishing up.

"Pancakes," she said dully. Dani was taciturn by nature, at least with me, and before nine o'clock getting more from her than a string of three words was rare.

"What's wrong with pancakes?" I asked.

"Had them yesterday."

"No. I mad crepes yesterday because you said you wanted them."

"Same diff," she said, sitting down at the table.

I shook my head as I carried our plates over to the sink, filling it with soapy water then I looked down at my watch. "I'm going to be late. I need to grab Aiden's bag, will you please put her in her car seat?"

"Can't you? I'm eating."

"Come on," I said.

"Whatever," she said, standing.

I quickly brushed my teeth, grabbed Aiden's bag, and ran out to the car. "See ya," I said to Dani.

"Bye," he said, waving behind his back.

I threw Aiden's bag into the backseat of my Toyota. I looked back. she was asleep. "Sorry, sweetie," I said softly.

I had just pulled out of our subdivision when my cell phone rang. I checked the number. It was work.

"Hello."

"Liam, it's Shirlee," my boss said. "We've got a problem."

"With who?"

"The Tremonton group. Did you book the Smithsonian for today?"

"No, they're tomorrow."

"No, we changed it, remember?" I groaned. "That's right."

"They're standing outside the Smithsonian. They're telling them that our vouchers aren't good."

"Just call the office of direct sales. Natalie will let them in."

"Where's the number?"

"It's in my Rolodex on my desk. Look under Smithsonian."

"Just a minute." There was a long pause. "You don't have Smithsonian here."

"Of course I do."

"I looked through all the S's, Liam. It's not here."

I was puzzled. "I don't know where it would be. It's got to be there."

"Do you have it in your phone?"

"No."

Shirlee groaned. "There's the driver on the other line. He's got to go. He's got another pickup."

"Just tell him to wait a second, I'll be right there."

I sped into the office. I pulled into a parking place and ran inside. I had accidentally filed the Smithsonian card under N for Natalie. But that's not the only mistake I made. I left my three-year-old Aiden in the car on the hottest day of the year.

*******

I've heard it said that there's no greater pain than losing a child. But there is. It's being responsible for your child's death. The day it happened to me is indelibly etched into my mind. People have questioned the existence of hell, but I can tell you it's real. I've been there. Seeing my beautiful little girl's lifeless bod in the backseat of my car was hell.

I don't know how long it took for the switch to connect, but after work when I got to my car I just looked at her, the sign incomprehensible. Why was Aiden in my car? Why wasn't she moving? Then reality poured in like a river of fire. I puller her out, screaming at the top of my lungs. A crowd gathered around me. I tried CPR, I tried mouth-to-mouth, I prayed with everything I had for a miracle, for a heartbeat, for a single breath, but she had been gone for hours. The world swirled around me like a tide pool, spinning m out of control. The paramedics arrived. The police arrived. There was talk of heatstroke and core temperatures and hyperthermia. I fell to the ground unable to walk, unable to do anything but scream and babble, to plead for my baby's life.

A police officer tried to get information from me, but it was like I wasn't there. My little girl's body was taken. I screamed as they took her away even though she was already gone. My Aiden. My reason for living, was gone.

A woman came and out her arm around me. I don't know who she was. I never saw her again. I wouldn't recognize her if I did. She said little, but she there. Like an angel. Somehow I could talk to her. "I want to die," I said. "I know, honey," she said. "I'm so sorry." Then she was gone. Had I imagined her?

The press arrived with cameras and video cameras. Danielle had arrived after them. "What have you done?" She shouted at me. "What have you done?" I couldn't answer. I couldn't even speak. I was catatonic.

There were discussions on whether I should be tried for murder or manslaughter. There would be an investigation. It had already begun. People were talking to Dani. To Shirlee. To my co-workers. To people who didn't know me well enough to speak about me. What kind of person was I? What kind of father was I? No one asked me. I could have answered the latter. I was the worst kind. The kind who killed his own child.

They put me in a police car and drove me downtown to the station. I waited alone in a rom for more than an hour. It seemed like no one knew what to do with me. A few police officers came in and asked me questions. Inane questions. Did I know she was in the car? Had I left her in the car on purpose? When did I realize she was in the car? "Probably when I started screaming hysterically and collapsed," I wanted to say.

Then a man about my age came an d talked to me. He wasn't with the police. He wore a suit. His voice was calm. Sympathetic. He asked me questions, and I mostly just blinked at him. He told me that he was from the prosecutor's office or someplace official. He finished with his questions and spoke with the police. There was a discussion on whether or not I should be arrested and fingerprinted, but the man intervened. The talk of court and jail scared me, but nothing they could do could match the pain I already felt. Someone asked if I wanted a sedative. I turned it down. I deserved to feel the pain. I deserved to feel every barb, every hurt, then, God willing, to die.

And the barbs came. My Aiden's death set off a firestorm of media. The television covered it, reducing my tragedy to four minutes of entertainment followed by a Salt Lake commercial for tires. Both newspapers, the Deseret News and The Salt Lake Tribune, weighed in. There were columns of letters to the editor about me. Some said I deserved life in prison for what I'd done. Some said I should be locked in a car with the windows rolled up. I agreed with the latter. The cruelest thing said was that I had killed my Aiden on purpose.

Most confusing to me was how deeply people I didn't know hated me. The attacks lasted for months. I don't know why strangers went so far out of their way to hate me. Maybe it made them feel like better people. Or better parents. Maybe it convinced them that they would never do such a thing. Maybe it masked their fears that they wee flawed like me.

I noticed stories like mine everywhere. One British lawyer called it forgotten baby syndrome. It's not a syndrome, I thought. It's an accident. A horrible, exquisite accident. A failure of humanity.

Once a psychiatrist on TV spoke out for me. He said, "Our conscious mind prioritizes things by importance, but our memory does not. If you've ever left your cell phone in your car, you are capable of forgetting your child." He pointed out that this was an epidemic and there were scores of stories like mine. In one state three children died in one day. He said that this was a new phenomenon, that ten years ago it rarely happened because parents kept their babies near them in the front seat. Then airbags came, and our babies were put out of the way, where we couldn't see them.

He explained that there were two main reasons that people left babies in cars; change of routine and distraction. I'd had both. He said, rightly, that no punishment society could give could match what I was already feeling. I don't know how he knew. I guess it's his job to know.

Through it all, Danielle's moods were as volatile as the Utah weather. She was supportive and sympathetic, then, sometimes in the same hour, angry and brooding. She was always moody. She was gone a lot. I didn't know where she went. I didn't really care. It was easier being alone. I was fired from my job, not that I could have worked. I stayed in bed most of the time, hiding from the world, wishing that I could hide from myself.

Then, one night, I got sick with appendicitis. If I had known that my appendix had already burst, I might have gone to the hospital. If I had stayed home for just another hour or two, I could have ended it all. I had been given a way out. I don't know why I didn't take it. Perhaps, in spite of my self-loathing and pain, some part of me still longed to live.

As I lay in bed wrecked with fever, I thought about my life. It was then that I had an epiphany. It came to me that one day I might see my sweet little girl again. What if she asked me what I had done with my life? I was not honoring her by retreating from the world-from life. At that moment I resolved that things might be different. That I might be different. That I might be better.

Then my wife divorced me.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

_Even in the darkest of days there are_

_oases of joy. And there's usually pie._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

As a rare gesture of magnanimity, Mark closed the office two hours early on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. On the way home from work I stopped at the grocery store for pie ingredients. It had been years since I'd made pies. I unearthed the old cookbook my mother had written her pie secrets in; that cookbooks was one of the few possessions I got after my mother's death.

Before settling in to bake I put the Mitch Miller Holiday Sing Along CD on my stereo to set the mood. The truth was, I was already in a good mood. It seemed that I always was when I was about to see Zayn.

Zayn arrived at my apartment a little before six. I had finished making all the crusts, and the cherry and apple pies were in the over, along with a baking sheet spread with pecans halves.

"I got here as soon as I could," he said apologetically. He carried a paper coffee cup in each hand, and a large white plastic bag hung from the crux of his arm. He breathed in. "It smells heavenly." He handed me a cup. "I got you a salted caramel mocha."

"How do you always know what I want?"

"It's easy. I find the sweetest thing on the menu and order it."

"You've pretty much figured me out," I said.

"It's probably sacrilege, but I brought us Chinese for dinner. I got wonton soup, sweet and sour chicken, walnut shrimp, and pot stickers."

"Which will al go nicely with pumpkin pie," I said. We walked into the kitchen. Zayn set the bag of Chinese down on the table.

"So, I'm making apple, cherry, pumpkin, and pecan," I said. "The apple and cherry are already in the oven. They're just about done."

Zayn examined the latticework on my apple and cherry pies through the oven window. "Those are works of art," he said. "Where did you learn to make pies?"

"My mother. She was famous for her pies. Well, about as famous as you can get in Montezuma Creek. She won a blue ribbon for her cherry pie at San Juan County fair. It was the only prize she ever won. She hunt it in the living room next to my father's bowling trophies." I opened the oven and took out the pies, setting them on the counter to cool. "I don't have a lot of happy memories from my childhood, but when she made pie, life was good. Everyone was happy. Even my father."

"My mother always made pies at special times," Zayn said, "like the holidays or special family get-togethers. But my favorite part of pie making was after she was done and she would take the leftover dough, sprinkle it with cinnamon and sugar, then bake it."

"I know, right!" I said, clapping my hands. "Piecrust cookies. They're the best. Which is why I made extra dough."

"You're going to make some tonight?" Zayn asked. "Absolutely," I said. "When the pies are done."

"So, what fat for you use for your crust? Butter, shortening, or lard?"

"My mother was old school. She said that lard made the flakiest piecrust. She thought butter was lazy and shortening was a sin. She was religious about it."

"People get a little fanatic about pies," Zayn said.

"I'm just getting ready to mix the pecan pie filling. Would you mind getting the pecans out of the oven?" The mitts are right there."

"On it," he said.

While he brought the baking sheet out of the oven, I mixed the other ingredients.

"Where do you want the pecans?" he asked.

"Go ahead and pour them in here," I said.

"The pecans rise to the top?"

"Like magic."

In the end I made four regular-size pies for Thanksgiving as well as two tart-size pies-one pecan, one pumpkin-for us to eat with our dinner.

After the last of the pies were in the oven, we sat on the floor in the living room and ate our Chinese food with chopsticks. This was followed by the small pies for dessert and piecrust cookies as a post-dessert with decaf coffee.

As I finished my coffee I lay back on the carpet. "I'm too full for Thanksgiving dinner."

"No, we're just stretching out our stomachs to get ready for Thanksgiving dinner," Zayn said.

"That's a brilliant excuse for gluttony," I said.

"My father used to say that," he said. "He used to make a big breakfast Thanksgiving morning."

"I bet your mother loved that."

"Oh yeah, a dirty kitchen to start with."

"Thanks for bringing us dinner," I said. "What was the name of the that restaurant?"

"Asian Star," he said. "And it was nothing. If I'd known you were such a good cook, I would have added a clause in the contract requiring you to cook for me."

"You didn't have to," I said. "I'm happy to cook for you whenever you want."

"There's an open-ended commitment," he said. "Speaking of commitments, how is the contract going?"

"Our contract?"

"The Mistletoe Promise," he said.

I wondered why he was asking. "I think it's going very well."

"So you're glad you signed?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said.

We decided to watch television as we waited for the last of the pies to bake. I turned the lights out, and we sat next to each other on the couch. I handed Zayn the remote, and he channel-surfed for a few minutes until we came to It's a Wonderful Life on PBS. "Let's watch this," I said. "I love Jimmy Stewart."

"And that Donna Reed," Zayn said. "That is one low-maintenance man."

"Like me," I said.

He smiled. "Just like you."

*******

I must have been exhausted, because I don't remember falling asleep next to him. Actually, on him. I woke with my head on his shoulder. I jumped up. "You're okay," he said. "The pies?" I said. "I didn't hear the buzzer."

"I got them out. They look perfect. Marie Callender herself would be proud."

He turned off the television, then walked me to my bedroom. I sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing my face and yawning. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. I'll see you tomorrow. I'll us let myself out."

"Zayn," I said.

"Yes?"

"Are you glad you signed the contract?"

He smiled, then came up next to me and kissed me on the forehead. "I'd do it again."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there is a Thanksgiving bit in this and I understand that Zayn is Muslim. I am unfortunately uneducated about the religion and the things that are said or done. I don't want to change anything in case of someone being insulted or unintentionally offending someone by using the wrong information. I am aware of Zayn's religion 100%, but in this case I am using Christian traditions. If someone would like to educate me on the part about Thanksgiving, I would appreciate it and change it. I hope you guys understand.   
> xxx

_It seems like a long time since I remembered all I have_

_to be grateful for. Perhaps that's why it's been such_

_a long time since I've been really happy._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

Thanksgiving arrived with a heavy snowfall, and I woke to the sound of plows scraping the road. Around nine the snow stopped, and the roads were clear by the time Zayn arrived at two. Traversing a slippery sidewalk, we carried the pies out to his car, laid them on lipped cookie sheets on his backseat, and drove off to Thanksgiving dinner.

"Tell me about the Tomlinsons," I said as we drove. "You'll like them. Good people. Louis is one of those small-town boys who made good." He turned to me. "He grew up in Burley, Idaho, working the potato fields. Went to Yale for law. The firm picked him up out of college."

"What's his wife's name?"

"Eleanor. You'll love her. She's one of those people who's always baking bread for the neighbors or visiting people in the hospital.

*******

The Tomlinsons lived in a medium-sized home in the northernmost section of the Avenues. A large pine wreath garnished their front door. Zayn rang the doorbell, then opened the door before anyone could answer. We were engulfed by the warmth of the home, the smell of baking, and the sound of the Carpenters' Christmas music playing from another room.

A woman walked into the foyer to greet us. She looked to be about my age, pretty with short, wavy brown hair. Over a red knit shirt she wore a black apron that read "The only reason I have a kitchen is because it came with the house."

"Zayn," she said joyfully. "And this must be Liam. I'm Eleanor."

"Hello," I said. "Happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving to you too," she returned. She looked down at the pies we carried. "Those look delicious, let me take that from you," she said, taking the cookie sheet from my hands. "Boys, come here. Fast."

Two young boy, close in age, appeared at her side. "Carry these into the kitchen and don't drop them."

"Okay," they said in unison.

"Now we can properly greet," she said, hugging me first then hugging and kissing Zayn. "It's so good to see you. You haven't been around much lately."

"Work," he said. "And more work."

"You lawyers work too much. But Louis says your absence might have something to do with your new friend," she said, looking at me. "Liam, we're so please you've joined us. Zayn has told us so much about you."

"Good things, I hope."

"All good," she said. Suddenly her brow fell. "Wait, have we met before?"

"I don't think so."

"You look familiar. I have a pretty good memory for faces. You aren't famous, are you?"

"No."

"You haven't been in the newspaper or on TV?"

I froze. It wasn't the first time someone had asked, but I was always caught off guard. "I..."

"Eleanor," Zayn said lightly, "stop interrogating him. He just has one of those faces."

Eleanor smiled. "He definitely is a handsome one. I'm not often wrong about things like that, but there's always a first."

"Thank you," I said. "Now, come in, come in. We're almost ready to eat. Make yourself at home. I need to check on the rolls, but let me take your coats."

I shrugged off my coat and handed it to her. As she started to turn away, a man, slim yet broad shouldered with dirty blond hair neatly parted to one side, walked up behind her. "Zaynie boy," he said, extending his hands to Zayn in greeting. "Hey, buddy," Zayn returned. They man-hugged and then, with his arm still across the man's shoulder, Zayn said to me, "This is Louis."

Louis reached his hand out to me. "So glad you could come. Zayn's told us so much about you."

All I could think of was Zayn's description of Louis as a potato picking Idaho boy, which was exactly what he looked like, except without dirty beneath his fingernails. I took his hand. "Thank you. I was glad to be invited."

"I guarantee you won't go away hungry," Louis said. He turned to Zayn. "I hate to do this today, but can I ask you something about the Avalon case? I've got to get back to them by seven."

"No rest for the wicked," Zayn said. He turned back to me. "Sorry, I'll be right back. Just . . mingle."

As they slipped off to Louis's den, I walked into the living room and kitchen area. Adjoining the living room was the dining room, with a long table that was beautifully set with a copper-colored linen tablecloth, gold-trimmed china plates on gold chargers, and crystal stemware. There was a floral centerpiece in autumn colors with two unlit red candles rising from its center.

The two boys were now lying on their stomachs, playing a video game in front of the fireplace. Across from them, on the sofa, was an elderly woman I guessed to be the grandmother. She looked like she was asleep. I drifted toward the kitchen, where Eleanor was brushing butter over Parker House rolls.

"May I help?" I asked.

"I could use some help," she said. "Would you mind opening that can of cranberry sauce and putting it on the table? The can opener is in that drawer right there."

I found the can opener, opened the can, and arranged the sauce.

"Your pies look divine," Eleanor said. "Zee usually just picks them up from Marie Callender's."

"Thank you. I like making pies. Except mincemeat. We bought the mincemeat."

"I'm not a mincemeat fan either. It's really just for Grandma."

"That's what Zayn said."

"He didn't bring it one year. Grandma let him know that she wasn't happy." We both looked over at the old woman. "It's a lot of work making pies. Especially the lattice tops," Eleanor remarked.

"I enjoy making them," I said again. "And Zayn helped." She looked at me with surprise. "Zayn helped you make pies?" I nodded. "Wow," she said. "You domesticated him. Things must be going well with you two." I didn't know how to respond. Finally I said, "We're having fun."

"Fun is good. He said you met at work."

"Sort of. We work in the same office building. I'm four floors beneath him."

Eleanor donned hot mitts, then opened the oven. "Time to bring out the bird," she said as she pulled a large roaster out and set in on the granite-topped island in the middle of the kitchen. She lifted the lid, exposing a large browned turkey.

At that moment, Zayn walked in, trailed by Louis.

"I see you put him to work," Zayn said to Eleanor.

"I did," Eleanor said.

Zayn said to me, "She comes across as nice, but she's really a heartless taskmaster. Last year she made Louis and me put together the boys' Christmas bikes before we could eat."

"Shhh!" she said. "They're right there. Santa brought those bikes."

Zayn grinned, "Sorry," he said and then turned to me. "Did you meet Grandma?"

"Not yet," I said. "She's asleep."

"And don't wake her," Eleanor said. "Let sleeping dogs lie."

"I heard that," Grandma shouted. "I'm not a dog. I'm old, not deaf." 

I glanced furtively at Zayn, who looked like he might burst out laughing. "I want a Dr Pepper," she shouted. "No ice."

"Would you mind?" Eleanor said to Zayn. "There's one in the fridge. She likes it in a plastic cup, no ice."

"Sure," he said. He retrieved the soda, poured it into the cup, then took my hand and led me over to the woman. "Here you go, Grandma," he said, offering her the drink.

She snatched it from him, took a long drink, burped, then handed the half full cup back to him without thanks.

"Liam, this is Grandma Margaret," Zayn said. "Grandma, this is Liam."

"Did you bring the mincemeat?" she said.

"Of course."

"One year he didn't bring it," she said to me.

"That must have been really awful," I said.

Zayn stifled a laugh. Grandma just looked at me.

"Who are you?"

"I'm Liam."  
"You his husband?"

"No. We're just friends."

"There's nothing wrong with marriage," she said. "No one gets married these days. Why would they buy the cow when the milk's free?"

"Grandma," Eleanor said from the kitchen. "That's enough."

"It's nice to meet you," I said.

"It's time to eat?" she said back.

"She said meet," Zayn clarified.

"We got a turkey," she said. "That's all the neat we need."

She turned to Eleanor. "When do we eat? I haven't got all day."

"Zayn," Eleanor said. "Will you carve the turkey? Then we can eat. Louis take the rolls in. Boys, stop playing that stupid game."

The boys just continued playing. Zayn walked over to the bird. "Where's you electric knife?"

"I don't know where it went," Eleanor said. "I think Louis ruined it making the boys' pinewood derby cars."

"That's possible," Louis said.

"You're going to have to do it the old-fashioned way," Eleanor said.

Zayn pulled a knife from a wooden block and began carving while I helped Eleanor carry the last of the food over to the table. "I'd have Louis do the carving," she said to me, loud enough for her husband to hear, "but he just makes a mess of it. I ended up using most of it for turkey noodle soup. You'd think, being raised on a farm, he'd know how to carve a turkey."

"I know how to raise and kill a turkey," Louis said. "Fortunately, this one came dead," Eleanor replied. "Boys, put away the gam and help Grandma to the table."

After we had all settled in at the table, Eleanor and Louis held hands and Eleanor said, "Zayn, will you say a prayer over the food?"

"I'd be happy to," he said. He took my hand, and we all bowed our heads. "Dear Father in Heaven, we are grateful for this day to consider our blessings. We are grateful for the abundance of our lives. We are grateful to be together, safe and well. We ask a blessing to be upon this home and Louis and Eleanor and their family. Please bless them for their generosity and love. We are grateful that Liam has joined us this year and ask that he might feel as blessed as he makes others feel. We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ. Amen." I looked over him. "Thank you. That was sweet."

"He says the best prayers," Eleanor said. "That's why we always ask him to pray."

"I want turkey," Margaret said.

"Louis, get her some turkey," Eleanor said. "Just white meat."

Louis was right; there was no way we were leaving the table hungry. There was turkey, corn-bread stuffing, pecan-crusted candied yams, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet corn, Parker House rolls, apple-pineapple salad, and green beans with bacon. By the time we were through eating, I was too full for pie. We all helped with the dishes. Then Zayn said, "I think I need a walk."

"I'll join you," I said.

We retrieved our coats and went outside. The sun had just fallen below the western mountains, and we walked out into the middle of the vacant, snow-packed street. Zayn turned to me. "Having fun?"

"Yes. They're nice people. Grandma's a hoot."

"I know. Every year they say this is her last year, but it never is. I think she'll outlive all of us. When death comes for her, she'll slap him in the face and tell him to get her a DR Pepper, no ice." I laughed. "Why do you think old age does that to people?"

"I don't know. Old age seems to make some people meaner and others sweeter. Maybe it's just an amplifier." I slipped on a patch of ice, and Zayn grabbed my arm. I noticed that he didn't let go. "So how does this compare to your normal Thanksgiving?"

"The food is better. The company is much better."

"I'm sure the harem isn't the same without you."

"Dani will survive."

"S what is Dani like? Or have I crossed the line of addendum one."

"We have pretty much obliterated addendum one," I said.

"How do I describe Danielle?" I thought for a moment then said, "Her good side, she's not bad-looking and she's ambitious. She has big dreams. Not really practical ones, but big. At least he did when we were dating."

"And the dark side?"

"She's got a nasty temper and she's a narcissist. She's insecure but conceited at the same time. She's a chronic flirt. On our wedding day she flirted with some of the guests. Probably the best compliment I could give her is that she's not my father."

"That's a short measuring stick," Zayn said. "It's the measuring stick life gave me," I replied. "It's funny how different kids can be from their parents."

"Like you," Zayn said. "Yes, but I meant Danielle. Her father is the most humble man you'll ever meet. He's had the same job as a hospital administrator for than thirty years. He adores his wife and treats her like a queen. Sometimes I wish I had married her father instead of her."

"No, you don't," Zayn said. "He's too old." I smiled. "You're right." I breathed the cold air in deeply. "Now, may I ask you a deep, probing question?"

"It's only fair," he said.

"Do you ever wish you were married and had children?" He thought for a moment. "Yes. To both."

"Then why don't you? It's not like that would be hard for you. Just in my office I know two women who would be more than happy to oblige you."

"I guess it's just taken me a little while to get tot his place."

"So why the contract? Why not just date?"

"Training wheels," he replied. "Training wheels," I repeated, smiling. "I like that." I slipped again. Again Zayn caught me. "It's the shoes," I said. "They don't do snow."

"I think you need training wheels."

"I think you're right."

"Let's go back and have some of that pie," he said. "All right. Just don't let me fall."

*******

By the time we returned from our walk, the boys had disappeared and Grandma Margaret had already eaten her sliver of mincemeat and retired to the guest room to nap. Zayn and I joined Louis and Eleanor at the table for coffee and pie. "Liam," Eleanor said. "Your pies are divine. This pecan pie is amazing."

"Thank you," I said. "You're definitely on our guest list next year."

"Or at least your pies are," Louis joked. "In case this doesn't work out."

I furtively glanced at Zayn, who didn't respond. We sat around and talked for nearly an hour. Eventually our conversation turned to the natural sleep agent properties of tryptophan in turkey, to which Zayn yawned and said, "I need a nap." He looked at me as if seeking permission.

"Go for it," I said.

He went into the living room, leaving the three of us still at the table.

"The food was really great," I said to Eleanor. "Thank you for letting me join you."

"Thank you for coming," Eleanor said. "You know, you're good for him." Louis nodded. "In all the years I've known Zee, I've never seen him this happy."

"We've only known each other for three weeks," I said. "And the last three weeks he's been a changed man," Louis said. Eleanor nodded. "He's definitely in love."

The word paralyzed me. The L word. I suddenly wished that Zayn had told them the truth about us. "I think Ill check on Zayn," I said. I pushed back from the table and went into the living room. The light was off, and the room was lit by the orange-yellow fire.

Zayn was sleep on the sofa in front of the fireplace. I sat down next to the couch and just looked at him, the flickering flames reflecting off his face. He was beautiful. More beautiful since I'd gotten to know him. Do I really make him happy? Why does our relationship feel so real? I took a deep breath. An inner voice said to me, You're losing it, Liam. You know it's not real. You're going to get your heart broken. Then another voice said back, I don't care. I lay my head against him and closed my eyes and pretended that we were the couple everyone thought we were.

 

 


	13. Chapter 13

_Cars are remarkable machines. A man may devote_

_his life to charity, but put him in a car and take_

_his parking stall and he'll cut your throat._

_Liam Payne's Journal_

I woke the next morning to my phone ringing. It was still dark outside.

"Hello?" I said groggily.

"What are you doing?" Zayn asked. "I'm sleeping. What time is it?"

"Six. Almost."

"Why are you calling me so early?"

"It's Black Friday," he said. "I need to do some Christmas shopping. Want to come?"

"Is this on our schedule?"

"No, I'm completely ad-libbing here."

"Can I get ready first?"

"Of course. I'll be over in twenty minutes."

"Okay," I said. "Wait, I can't be ready in twenty minutes."

"How long do you need?"

"Give me an hour," I said firmly.

"All right. See you in an hour. Bye."

"Bye." I hung up, then climbed out of bed and took a shower to wake myself. As usual, Zayn was right on time. "Where are we going?" I asked with my eyes closed, reclining the seat in his car. "City Creek Center."

"It's going to be a zoo," I said. "I know," he said.

A few minutes later I asked, "Why aren't you tired?"

"It's a day off. Do you really want to sleep through it?"

"Yes," I said.

The shopping center was crazy crowded, and parking was at a premium. We passed two people trying to pull into the same slot in the parking garage, both unwilling to yield. They just kept honking at each other. 

"Think we'll find a space?" I asked. "I'd bet on it," he said. A few minutes later he pulled into a reserved spot with his name on it, and we took the elevator up to the ground level.

The shopping center had only opened the previous year and was clearly the place to go. It was an upscale, open-air shopping center that had a simulated creek running through it. It occupied six acres in downtown Salt Lake City with a sky bridge over Main Street connecting the two blocks.

We were walking out of Godiva Chocolatier, where we had stopped for chocolate-covered strawberries (which was probably the best breakfast I'd had in years), when Zayn said, "I need to stop at the Coach store to pick up a bag for one of the partners. Do you mind?"

"Of course not." I followed him to the shop. A professional-looking man, bald with a graying goatee, approached Zayn. "May I help you, sir?"

"I'm looking for a leather carry-on bag."

"I've got just the thing," said the man. He led us over to a wall display of leather bags. "I've got the Thompson fold-over tote, that's been quite popular. And the new Bleecker line. I've got the map bag in leather; it comes in two colors, brass and mahogany, and a leather-trimmed webbing strap."

"No, it looks too much like a man purse," Zayn said. "How much is this bag?" he asked, lifting one to examine it more closely. "That's the Bleecker flight bag. It's four hundred and ninety-eight dollars." That was almost my entire life savings. "What colors do they come in?" Zayn asked. "Just what you see here, black and brass."

"I'll take the brass." The man nodded, "Good choice. Much more masculine design. Do you need anything else?"

"No, that's all."

"Just give me a moment and I'll ring you up."  
"Here's my card," Zayn said, hanging him a black credit card. There was a long line of people making purchases. "That's a nice bag," I said. "It's for one of my partners," he said. "He'll like it. He likes luggage."

"It's expensive."

"Not for him," he said. "Or you," I added. As we waited in line I noticed that there was a Pandora shop across the way. Cathy was a Pandora fanatic, and she always loved getting new charms. "Zayn," I said, "I'm going to go over to the Pandora shop."

"No problem. I'll come over after."

I walked over to the store and browsed the display cases until I found a sterling silver clover with green enamel. It was perfect. Cathy was Irish and proud of it.

"May I help you?" a woman asked. I looked up. The woman was about my age, heavy with gold, permed hair. "I'd like to purchase that charm right there," I said, pointing to the piece. "The clover?" she asked. "Yes, please." She lifted it from the display case. "This also comes in gold with diamonds."

"The silver charm is fine, thank you."

"Anything else?"

"No, that's it," I said. "This way, please." I followed her over to the cash register. "Will that be cash or plastic?"

"Plastic," I said, handing her my Visa card. She ran my card, glanced at the name, then back up at me. "Do I know you?"

"I don't think so."

She glanced once more at my name on the credit card. "Liam Payne. No, I think I do. What school did you go to?"

"I'm not from around here."

"Hmm," she said, handing me back my card. Then a look of recognition came to her eyes. "I know who you are. I read a story about you a few years back. You . . " She stopped abruptly. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm mistaken."

She quickly packaged up my purchase and handed me the bag. "Thank you for shopping. Have a good day."

"Happy Holiday's," I said dully, then quickly left the store. Zayn met me as I was walking out. "Sorry that took so long," he looked at me closely. "Are you okay?"

"I'm not feeling well," I said. "Can we go?"

"Of course." He glanced over at the store, then took my hand. "Come on. It's too crowded here anyway."


End file.
